The Silvan
by nimruzir
Summary: Legolas is a child of the deep, arcane forest; with the face of a Sinda and the heart of a Silvan, his dream is to become a captain in the king's militia. This is his journey from fantasy to reality, to elven warriorhood and eventually, to unraveling the mystery of his own past, one that will change the course of history.
1. Pea Soup

Story notes

Welcome to The Silvan. I am really excited about this new project, one I have been playing with for some time now, and have finally decided to write. I hope you all enjoy this story, one you will find far less light-hearted than the Wise and the Wild series.

This tale is based on the series The Protégé, by Alpha Ori. As such please note that unconditional permission is given to play with the universe created in the series as I see fit.

Needless to say that this is Alternative Universe. Criticism for not sticking to canon will be completely ignored Your constructive feedback will fuel the continuation of this story so please review and lend me your thoughts.

Please note this story is rated T for the moment. Any changes will be duly notified.

Disclaimer: All canon characters are the sole creation of JRR Tolkien. All other characters are mine. This is a non-profit effort, although I wish it weren't!

Summary

Legolas is a child of the deep, arcane forest; with the face of Sinda and the heart of a Silvan, his dream is to become a captain in the king's militia. This is his journey from fantasy to reality, to elven warriorhood and eventually, to unraveling the mystery of his own past, one that will change the course of history.

….

Chapter one: Pea Soup

Flickering blue light illuminated the room, and the deep rumble of thunder resounded throughout the forest, only to leave her in utter darkness once more, save for the orange glow of a dying fire.

It was cold and damp and she pulled her woolen shawl tightly around her shoulders as she moved closer to the fire, kneeling now before the comforting warmth and she wondered for a moment, if it could warm her heart – if such a thing were still possible.

Blue light flashed once more, and she looked up in apprehension for a moment, for it had been close. A thunder clap rattled the wooden panels of her forest home and rain pelted down upon the thatchings. Her shawl was suddenly insufficient and she shuffled forward until her face felt the warmth of the hearth and still – her heart was frozen.

Someone was at her door, she realized and the fine hairs on her neck prickled in warning. Her head snapped from the warming fire to the front door of her cottage. Only dire news came at moments such as these - but what had she expected, after all this time?

Moving slowly, as if in some way she could put off the inevitable, she reached out one cold, shaking hand and clasped the wooden knob tightly, too tightly until the whites of her knuckles shone through her skin. She closed her eyes, only to open them moments later, determination now shining in the warm, honeyed depths. Who was she to defy destiny? To deny the inevitable? When had she ever been a coward that she could not face what Yavanna placed before her?

Turning, she pulled and held on tightly, for the wind howled mercilessly. Slowly she opened the door and stood in shock for a moment at the sight before her.

A tall, hooded elf stood there, strangely quiet and serene as the storm howled and raged in fury behind him. In one, gloved hand, he held an envelope and hesitantly, she reached out until her fingers stroked the rough parchment, before she took it carefully and glanced back up at the elf, expecting, perhaps, that he would give some sort of explanation; but only silence stretched between them, and with another loud rumble of thunder, he pivoted upon his heels and strode into the sheet of torrential rain until he was lost from sight.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she sunk down before the fire one more, her eyes looking straight into the timid flames that danced in her irises. A tear escaped her and she reached up to touch it, as if surprised, her right hand once more caressing the paper it held numbly.

Her pulse beat frantically in her neck, she could feel it even in her eyes and although it was cold, she felt strangely – hot. She knew this feeling; it was fear, pure and unadulterated fear for the one she loved most, the one she had not seen for many long, grueling years.

Legolas, Hwindohtar …

Her eyes moved from the fire to the parchment, once more and with a deep steadying breath, she broke it open and held it to her wide watery eyes.

 _"I am coming home…"_

She closed her eyes, tears suddenly flooding from them, tracing down her cold face and then splashing onto the paper she now held in her lap, her eyes glancing for a moment over the harvest of fat, green peas that sat upon her kitchen table …

 _My son…_

….

Winters were harsh in the deeper parts of the great forest. Once green and vibrant, humming with the magic of Yavanna's creation, the great wild trees still remembered the days of peace and love, when the sun still shone upon their needy leaves, and the rain was cool and pure.

The Silvans too, remembered those days, not long past, and yet long enough for numbness to set in, for the haze of time to filter and temper the beauty they had once known.

Deeper now, into the forest, and the dense foliage extends its leafy branches up to the heavens, where dappling light keeps them alive and content, their roots deep in the loamy earth, just like those who dwelt here, in this part of the Great Greenwood where peace still reigned, and the forest thrived; a place where one could imagine a land of idyllic beauty, where orcs and wargs and other such abominations of nature did not exist, save in the bedtime stories of brave Silvan children.

The Silvan people lived here, in the deeper parts of the Great Greenwood; away from the hustle and bustle of life in the city, of politics and splendor and courtly gossip. Their world was green and brown and filled with the fruits of the land, with good earth which they worked as only the Silvans could.

Amidst the trees, glades of vibrant green grass are dotted with woodland flowers and here, we see cottages of stone and timber, a thin haze of woody smoke floating in the air. Today, an elven lady works in her garden, collecting the long green pods that hang from wooden sticks placed up against an overgrown hedge.

Howling laughter danced merrily upon the air and Amareth smiled indulgently as her honey-coloured eyes glanced once more at the small flet at the bottom of her garden. _There they go again_ , she smiled as she walked inside and deposited her basket upon the wooden tabletop of her homely kitchen. Sliding her thumb down the green pod, she watched as the spring peas popped from their nest and into the wooden bowl with a mellow thud.

Her smile turned from amusement to fondness, and then to motherly love, for although the boy was not her son, she loved him just as much, for is mother not she who nurtures and cares for a child? She who sacrifices her own life and joy for the simple laughter of a tiny life, one that without her, could not blossom? What had blood to do with it?

She turned to the small pot sitting over the wood fire, water bubbling invitingly, the promise of sweet pea soup and sour cream with crunchy nuts – his favorite, for he would peck her upon the cheek every time she made it, rosy cheeks and white teeth, sparkling green eyes so full of life and love; such a beautiful child.

Another grin spoiled her otherwise serious mien; her beautiful nephew that was her son, had lived in Silvan joy for so many years with no cares in the world save for those of his tutors. It had been a good childhood and yet not an easy one, for uncomfortable questions had followed him everywhere he went; and how could they not, for the child was extraordinary in every way. He had born it all, first with frustration, then anger, then surrender. She was no fool though, she knew his questions were but latent in his agile mind; sooner or later they would surface once more, and the Valar forbid he find his answers.

She carefully slid the peas into the boiling water and sat back to watch the flames lick at the heavy pan, slowly bringing the water back to bubbling.

He had trained in the Silvan way, in the forests, not in the city, yet even so, he had excelled far beyond the expectations of his tutors. The bow, the short swords and hand-to-hand combat had come so naturally to him. _And how could it have been any other way?_ She asked herself wryly – for was it not in his blood? His _Sindarin_ blood?

A shiver ran down her spine as her thoughts took her, once more, down the path of anxiety. She would not lose him to the shadow and she would not lose him to politics, and even though he was now an adult, still she would protect him, at any cost. Protect him from those that would break his world apart; scorn him, mark him as a child born of love and not matrimony.

She took a steadying breath as she reached for a cloth and unhooked her pot. Carrying it carefully to a basin of frigid forest water, she poured in the delicious vegetables and smiled in satisfaction at the bright green pearls, delighting as the steam warmed her face.

Turning, she sat as she dried her hands upon her apron, her eyes set in determination and maternal steel.

No, they would not mock him, they would not cause his suffering for the boy could never know, never know what she had hidden from him all the years of his life, in spite of the questions. He could never know that side of himself – the _Sindarin_ side – for to do so would be to turn his word upside down, rock him so hard he would surely unhinge.

No, he could never know who his father was; she would never tell him, and yet something screamed at her in mock and disdain. _Foolish woman_ , for he is a warrior now, the best they had seen for many years, and talent like that would always reach the ears of Thranduil's captains and thus, those of the king.

It was a matter of time; in her heart she knew this as surely as she did her own name. He was too good a warrior, too loved by her people, too beautiful to behold. His hair was too thick, long and pale, and his eyes – his eyes were far too green to ever pass by unnoticed.

The boy was extraordinary and for all that she wished to protect him, the only way she could achieve such a thing would be to hold him back, and that – she would never do. He was destined for great things – Golloron had said as much – and she had believed it, still did.

The peas had been strained and now sat once more in the bowl as Amareth sprinkled sage and thyme over them, before adding a knob of butter and a dash of milk.

Almost done, she said to herself as another bust of laughter tickled her ears.

He was her son in all but blood, was of _her_ people, not those of his father and yet his colouring left no doubt in anyone's mind as to his mixed heritage. It was not spoken of though, for the villagers were respectful and wished not to pry in questions that may bring unhappiness to Amareth's house, for she too, was loved.

Tomorrow, he would ride out for the first time, out of the Western quadrant and into the city. He would rejoice, she knew, at his new-found freedom, of the bright, new things he would see. He would look on in fascination at the stonework and architecture of the king's fortress and he would make her proud upon the training fields of the King's Guard, where he had been called for recruitment.

And sooner or later, he _would_ come face to face with the other side of himself. What would come of it she did not know, but she dreaded it all the same, for such a revelation would surely cause political unrest at the worst, and family rejection at best.

She wished to protect him – aye - but he had escaped her now – there was nothing she could do to stop the spiral of events. He was an adult, he would have to protect himself.

At least, she reassured herself, at least Ram en Ondo and Idhrenohtar would be with him and should they all be assigned to the same patrol, she knew they would protect him as fiercely as she herself would, for they were as sons to her too, brothers unto themselves.

Images of four small children playing and giggling and acting out great battles flitted merrily before her mind's eye. Ram 'en Ondo they had called the biggest of the four, for he surely was a strapping lad, a wall of stone. Another was named Idhrenohtar, for even as a child he was wont to question, to reason and logic, a child philosopher. Thavron too, played their games but his calling was different; he was to be the mightiest tree master the Silvan people had ever known. And then Legolas had become Hwindohtar for he had, quite by chance, decided that dancing could be fun with a blade in your hand, albeit a wooden one.

Before lunch, they had fought the great battles they learned of at school, had vanquished many foes. They had conquered new lands between tea time and bedtime, and at night, at night they would be heroes returned victorious to their lords.

It had always been their destiny, _his_ destiny. Soon now, they would spread their wings and fly away, away from her, from their people and when they returned once more they would be utterly changed.

Excited chatter exploded in the kitchen, just as she placed her bowl of steaming pea soup on the wooden table.

"Mother mine!" exclaimed Hwindohtar as he sat himself down unceremoniously, his eyes, just as green as the soup he now stared at longingly.

"Now now, wait for the blessings, Legolas."

"Of course," he added with a smile, as Ram en Ondo, Idhrenohtar and Thavron sat, nodding politely to the woman they loved as an aunt.

"Yavaana, mother of Arda. We thank thee for the bounties before us," she said simply, before looking up once more and smiling at the three, expectant faces. They were hungry and they were excited. This was the dawn of a new life for them, the beginning of their own adventures. What better way to celebrate, than with her famed pea soup?

' _Please lady_ , she said to herself, _protect them_ … and one day, bring Legolas home to me.'

…

And so it was, that the next dawn brought with it a heartfelt goodbye. Amareth stood, her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders for there was a chill in the air, and in her heart. The heavy absence of her sister weighed her down for if Lassiel could have seen him now – young and beautiful, brave and optimistic, with the world at his feet and a thousand dreams in his head, she would have melted like the spring frost, awash with love for her beautiful son.

Golloron, the village's spiritual leader, stood quietly, ominously almost in his dark robes.

Erthoron, their leader stood beside Thavron, now an apprentice carpenter, and beside them, the school master, the healer and their closest neighbours watched, some in sorrow and others with smiles. It was still dark but these three were beloved children, they were the hope of their village, the laughter and the joy, the very essence of what makes life worthy of living.

Amareth had said her goodbyes and now, stood in silence as her eyes met the extraordinary green irises of her son; her sister's eyes. There were no words, only emotions that both understood as clearly as if they had been spoken.

 _Make me proud, guard your heart, and come back to me safely, my Sindarin, Silvan son …_

…..


	2. Into The World

Author's note:

Thank you very much for your encouraging reviews, faves and follows! Even the silly guest flamer – you were hilarious, well done!

Here is the first chapter proper, and a few notes before you read. There is nothing but a little swearing going on. About the swear words, remember that these characters would be speaking in Sindarin, or the Silvan dialect and as such they wouldn't actually be saying the words I use here – I am a mere translator, if you like, so try to imagine the words in that light. It's not that I think Legolas would say "fX*&%" – he would say the Sindarin equivalent, in context with the universe and period.

I hope you enjoy it !

…..

Chapter two: Into The World

"The air has changed; it is – _heavier,_ " said Legolas, almost to himself, his flushed young face alight in excitement and anticipation, deep green eyes sparkling in wonder – _beautiful_ , the trees whispered, _chosen son_ , they said to themselves.

"Aye, and the trees are fewer, I feel – _vulnerable_ ," said Idhrenohtar with a scowl, his eyes darting around nervously, for none of them were accustomed to such open spaces, in spite of the trees that dotted the meadowland they travelled.

"It won't be long now, until we are in the realm of the Sindar," said Ram en Ondo. We are out of our element, brothers, for I too feel – _small_."

"Small?!" chuckled Legolas as Idhrenohtar smiled. "Not _you,_ you great lumbering oaf! Besides who is to say these lands are of the Sindar? They belong to us _all_. I wager there are many Silvans in the king's halls, maybe even at his _court_ ," he speculated righteously.

"Silvan boy," smiled Idhrenohtar. "We Silvans rule the woods but there, at _court_ ," he pointed with his finger, "it is the _Sindar_ that impose their ways. That, I _do_ wager on."

Legolas held his friend's gaze for a moment, a scowl back on his face. "Do you think we will be treated like bumpkins, then?" he asked seriously.

Ram en Ondo roared in laughter at his friend's naïve question. "We _are_ bumpkins, Hwindohtar – you speak nonsense!" he mocked good-heartedly.

Legolas smiled and scowled at the same time, shrugging his shoulders as if to excuse his ignorance, but his agile young mind continued to work through their current situation.

"Well, alright. We _are_ bumpkins _and_ we are Silvan and you," he nodded at Idhrenohtar, "say, we will be in minority."

"No, I did not say that," corrected Idhrenohtar. "We will be with the majority at the barracks with the warriors, for the bulk of our king's fighters are Silvan. Nay it is the _rulers,_ the captains and the generals that are Sindarin."

"It does not seem logical to me," said Hwindohtar, and Ram en Ondo nodded his agreement. "I mean, surely the warriors ascend to captaincy or even more should their deeds be great, and as we are the majority, there should be more Silvan captains…"

"Your deductions are correct, brother, but who said their system is fair? Perhaps they become officers on the strength of their _family name_?" he asked rhetorically, watching as Legolas' jaw set in irritation.

"That is not right" he said, shaking his head in disdain.

"Nay, it is not. Now maybe I am wrong, but from what I have heard, this is the short of it; we should be prepared, and stick together if we can."

"Aye. With luck we will all be assigned to the same training patrols," said Ram en Ondo, before adding, "mind you, if Hwindo here is mistaken for a Sinda, that may not happen."

Silence prevailed for a moment before Ram en Ondo realized he should not have said that. It was a sore spot for his friend, who had always skillfully evaded any mention of his colouring every time the conversation arose.

"Forgive me," was all he said, cringing, wilting almost under Idhrenohtar's stern gaze that lingered on him for a little too long, and in spite of Ram 'en Ondo's considerable bulk, he almost seemed to shrink.

"Don't fret, Ram 'en. I suppose I had better get used to it," Legolas reassured grudgingly. "Back home, no one asks any more, but where we are headed – it will all start again I suppose," his voice tapered into nothing, as if remembering those early times when he had been mercilessly mocked, until he had one day stood his ground and earned their respect.

"You took it then and you will take it now," said Idhrenohtar confidently, but Legolas was not so sure. This was the adult world, the real world and he suddenly felt like a child once more.

Mentally scowling at himself, he watched his friends as they ambled contemplatively through the glades and then onto the planes of Rhovannion. He wanted to be strong, wanted to control himself and his emotions, defend himself against those that mocked him, but wanting was not enough to convince himself of success. He needed them, he realized. He needed Idhreno's wise words and Ram 'en's fierce protection because for the first time, Legolas felt himself at a disadvantage – outside his woodland home and away from those that knew him, he was vulnerable, and he liked it not at all.

….

A little further down the path, Legolas was jolted from his musings by the call of a nuthatch, his lovely face tilting upwards towards the midday sun as he smiled radiantly.

"A nuthatch!" he exclaimed, but contrary to what he had expected, Idhrenohtar simply snorted in mirth.

"Bumpkin! – 'tis not a bird you hear but an elven _warrior_!"

Ram 'en guffawed, slapping his thighs and throwing his head back, but then he almost choked on his own saliva, for in front of him, as if from nowhere, appeared a glaring warrior, a short bow slung over his shoulder and a sword at his side.

"You boy," said the warrior. "What is your name?" he asked abruptly, his sharp eyes resting on Legolas.

Legolas hesitated for a moment, before answering, horrified that his voice sounded so weak and resisting the sudden urge to swallow, albeit his mouth had turned dry.

"Legolas Amarion."

The warrior scowled, before continuing his interrogation. "I know of no Amaron of _Sindarin_ heritage," he said, watching the youth carefully.

"Not Amaron, Sir, but Amareth, and _she_ is Silvan, as am I."

"And what of your father?" was the clipped retort.

Ram en Ondo and Idhrenohtar clenched their jaws and looked to the floor for it would do no good to rile this warrior. He may be one of their instructors. If only they could find an excuse to help their friend out of the bind he found himself in – _again_ …

"My father died before I was born, Sir."

"I meant his _name_ you fool," said the warrior, still staring at the pale blond hair and moss green eyes.

"I…"

"Well, speak up, boy. You do _have_ a father…?"

Silence was all the answer the warrior received, and understanding lit his sharp grey eyes. "A _bastard,_ then? Well that is a pity, Legolas. Whoever he was, he was obviously a Sindar."

"I am _Silvan,_ " hissed Legolas too quickly, his emotions getting the better of him at being mistaken for a Sinda.

"Ohhh, jeered the warrior now. Have something against the Sindar then?" he mocked.

"Nay, forgive me," corrected Legolas hastily. I am simply proud of my home, of my people, 'tis all."

"Well, well, _Silvan._ You are proud and you are _rash_. But worry not, you will learn soon enough…" he said with a slightly twisted smile. Legolas simply looked away, annoyed at himself and this stupid warrior who had subjected him to impertinent questions and called him a Sinda, no less!

Twin looks of caution from his friends tempered his simmering irritation and he schooled himself once more. He had been rash, and he suddenly realized he had much to learn of himself. It had not been his intention to react that way, and if Idhrenohtar was right, this instructor, if that was what he was, would not be the last elf to subject him to the same questioning.

The _Silvan_ , the warrior had called him mockingly, and try as he might, his temper sparked once more. But then, when he really thought about it – should he not be pleased with the name he had been given? _Yes,_ he realized, it was not so bad after all. He would forget the scorn that had come with it, and think only of his home, his aunt and his people.

From now on he would not lie, for that had led his volatile emotions astray. He would call himself Legolas Amarethion, his aunt, his mother, for the rest was true, his real mother _was_ dead and his father was some, anonymous Sinda who must have done some vile deed, for he was never mentioned, and Legolas had stopped asking many years ago lest he be told something he did not like. He did not _care_ , he told himself. He did not care _at all_.

…..

"You three! Clean up and briefing is in one hour. Do _not_ be late," said the Sindarin warrior who had guided them to the barracks that lay on the outskirts of the city.

It was a dour place. Grey stone and dark wood with not one piece of decoration to mention, not even plants dwelled here, mused Legolas in abject horror.

Their beds were basic, but the blankets were thick and dry, and the water they had been provided with was clean and abundant. They would spend the next month here, or so they had been told – they would have to make it a more palatable place then, decided Legolas as he brushed a finger over a green leaf that had invaded the small window beside his bed, feeling the customary tingle travel up his finger and smiling.

Idhrenohtar watched him, smiling as would an older brother, but then the smile slipped and who could say what thoughts had sobered the wise elf.

….

Calenar knew how overwhelmed these Silvan village boys could be when traveling to the city for the first time. Life was so different from what they were accustomed to, and these three, by the looks of them, were no different save for one, surprising thing; one of them was a Sinda …

Calenar himself was a Sinda, and if there was one thing he could always be sure about, it was recognizing another of his race, and this Legolas, _was_ Sinda, however much it seemed to rile the youth.

 _Youth_ , he repeated to himself as he walked towards his commanding officer's quarters. He was barely out of swaddling cloths and yet – and yet he _had_ been the leader of the three, or so it had seemed to Calenar when he had met them on the road. The others protected him, gravitated towards him and the warrior realized he was intrigued with the boy.

A bastard with no father to call his own, the boy's face was simply extraordinary. He would be popular with the lasses – and with the lads he added with a sardonic smile. It would not be easy for this – Legolas – for Turion would soon beat him into shape, and a few of the novice warriors too, he wagered. But then he supposed the boy would be used to that for his own upbringing would have been conflictive.

Poor boy, he chuckled as he shook his head to clear his thoughts, for he was now before Lieutenant Turion's door, and there was a report to give.

He chuckled once more before turning the handle and entering, for Calenar had never before been mistaken for a _nuthatch_!

….

There were other recruits in the building now, and even as he dried himself off, they continued to arrive until the noise in the common room had built considerably, even unto the point of being troublesome – too many Silvans in a confined space, realized Legolas.

"Well, how do I look?" asked Ram en Ondo as he held his arms out to the side, showing his friends his new uniform.

Legolas snorted and Idhrenohtar smirked merrily. "These fabrics were not designed for Walls of Stone, my friend. The sleeves are too short and the breeches too tight!" exclaimed the Wise Warrior, before Hwindohtar continued. "Aye, and look at _this_ ," he laughed – the buttons on this tunic are straining so hard they will surely pop open no sooner you sneeze!" he giggled.

"Oh, oh, and what's this!" said Idhrenohtar as he lifted the back of his friend's tunic, revealing his taut backside. "One fart and you will be the laughing stock of the barracks!" he exclaimed, setting Legolas off into a wheeze of laughter, worsened as he watched Ram en Ondo dance out of the way, batting Idhrenohtar's hands from the hem of his tunic. Unfortunately, the time for briefing was upon them, and their superior officer appeared in the open doorway.

" _You!_ Shut your mouths and get to the briefing – you're _late!"_

Duly chastised, the three friends now stood in their new uniforms, together with the other recruits, most of them Silvan, noticed Legolas, as Idhrenohtar had predicted they would be.

They had been briefed as to their activities and duties for the next month, and Legolas suddenly found himself in awe of the drastic turn his life had taken, of all the wonderful things he would now learn. This was the just the start of the path he knew was his to walk – he would be a _captain_!

The Sinda that had caught them fooling around was introduced as their drill officer Dirhal, and Calenar, the warrior that had met them in the woods, would show them the basics of hand-to-hand combat. Finally, Faunon, the only Silvan on the training team, would introduce them to the art of tracking.

However, there had been no mention of the bow or blades. When they had asked, Lieutenant Turion had explained that that would take place in the city. First, they would learn survival technique, elementary first aid, military hierarchy, weapons care and tracking, and once they had become physically stronger, only then, would they begin to learn the martial arts.

Resigned, they began what would be their routine for the next four weeks. Get up, breakfast, drill technique and protocol, a run in the forest. After lunch they would study military structure and hierarchy, and then logistics. In the evenings, they would track and learn field care. It was exhausting and by the end of the first week their muscles ached ferociously, and Ram 'en was provided with a new set of clothing to accommodate his ever growing bulk, which had triggered a round of light-hearted mockery which the Wall of Stone took with a rueful smile, earning for himself the respect of their fellow recruits.

Idhrenohtar had taken to voicing his thoughts after the evening meal, drawing them all into introspective conversations that had helped them all to understand themselves a little better, to share their hopes and wishes, their worries and anxieties, the absence of their families – he too, had earned their respect as a wise elf and a good companion.

As for Legolas, his corner of the room had turned a myriad of green. Light green plants, dark green vines and wild flowers sprouted here and there, invaded his bed and had even stuck to the walls. He was a child of nature, they said, a true Silvan in spite of his looks, and some had even speculated he could speak to the trees, something most had laughed at good-naturedly. He was naïve and yet strangely noble, generous with his time and his actions and for this, Legolas too, was well-loved.

At the end of the second week, Hwindo, Ram'en and Idhreno, as they were now called freely, were as popular as they were good, and had struck up a fine relationship with their fellow recruits. As the friends they were, they would always be found together and soon enough, they had been baptized as ' _The Company'_ , for they were inseparable, unconditional in their defense the one for the other, and noble in their words and aspirations.

Two of the longest weeks of his life had, paradoxically, flown by, and now, Legolas sat upon his bed and brooded over his current source of discontent. His tutors had convinced themselves that Legolas disliked the Sinda. For this they mocked him by calling him ' _the silvan'_. It was not the name that Legolas disliked, but the sneer that accompanied it and after so many days enduring it stoically, he recognized he was reaching his limit.

It was not true, he scowled to himself. He had never intended to give that impression and now he was stuck with it. He had to find a way to redeem himself, he thought, but how?

Amareth had always instilled upon him the wisdom of being forthright. _Speak your mind, leave nothing unsaid_ , she would say. Yes – the answer was as simple as it was wise, he thought. He would speak to Lieutenant Turion and explain what was on his mind.

Plucking up his courage, he stood, straightened his tunic and walked briskly to his commanding officer's quarters. With a deep breath, he knocked vigorously upon the wooden door, and strode forwards until he stood before Turion's table. Standing to attention, he fixed his eyes to the side as he waited to be addressed.

"What is it, _Silvan_?" asked Turion as he looked down at the papers set before him on his desk.

"I wish to speak with you on a personal matter, Sir."

"Well," he said, looking up expectantly.

"I wanted to clear up what seems to be a – _misunderstanding._ "

Turion scowled and stood, before approaching Legolas, his eyes slanting as they analyzed the young warrior before him.

"A _misunderstanding_ …" said the Sinda drolly. "And what – _misunderstanding_ – do you speak of – _Silvan_ ," he said again. He was mocking, taunting.

"That I dislike the Sindar, Sir. It is what you think and it is a misunderstanding."

Silence.

" _Is_ it…?" said Turion, as if speaking to a child.

"Yes, Sir. Upon my arrival here, I was unfortunate in my choice of words and I do not blame you for thinking the way you do."

"You do not _blame_ me…"

If Legolas had been older, more experienced, he would have realized the danger and stopped. As it was, he was too involved in his words, too eager to relieve himself of the burden to realize the dangerous tone Turion had used.

"I just wanted to tell you I hold nothing against the Sindar… and I have no reason to…,"

" _To what!?"_ yelled Turion suddenly, making Legolas flinch and his eyes turn round and wide, shocked at the sudden turn in the commander's mood.

"No reason to hate the _Sindar_? Was your father not Sindarin? He who begot you and left you alone in the world as a worthless _bastard_ – fartherless, _nameless_ – you have no reason to hate the Sindar? I would say you have one, very good reason, _boy_!"

Legolas tried desperately to control his emotions, and to his credit his face did not feel too hot, and his breath did not seem too fast. He was, however, lost for words. No one had ever spoken to him like that – he was, quite simply – at a loss.

"Nothing to say now, _Silvan_?"

"No, Sir," said Legolas quietly, feeling disappointed in himself once more for his poor judgement. He was even more horrified when Turion's tirade did not stop but continue, the elf moving too close to his face so that his hot breath brushed against his cheek, in stark contrast to the cutting words that rolled so easily from Turion's mouth …

"You think you are in control. You think I cannot tell what lies beneath your veil. You are _wrong_ and I do not think you are accustomed to that. You call yourself Silvan because you _hate_ that other side of yourself – the side your very body proclaims is true. You try to hide the child who grew without a father, the child who was mocked and scorned…"

Legolas closed his eyes to steady himself, and only then did Turion stop his cruel words.

There was blessed silence then and Legolas gave thanks for it, he could not trust himself it seemed. He had made a fool of himself once more and he wanted to cry in frustration.

Hence he was surprised when Turion spoke softly to him then, albeit the elf was still too close to him for comfort.

"You will learn to know yourself, Legolas. You will understand yourself better if you stop trying to justify yourself. It must not have been easy," he continued, as if to himself now, "it will have made you strong for you see, _Silvan_ ," he paused for effect, hardship makes you strong – _you_ , are strong, however much you do not understand that now."

He moved away then, back to his desk and his sarcastic ways. "You are on kitchen duty for the next week. Once you have finished, you will report here for instructions."

Wisely, Legolas said no more, for he had much to think on and little self-pride left. "Yes, Sir," he said simply, saluting his commanding officer, and swiveling on his heels. Turion's words stopped him on his way to the door.

"Legolas. Put away the suffering child, place no more importance on your heritage. Become the warrior you were born to be."

Legolas' eyes had grown wide, albeit Turion could not see them. He had endured a mighty upbraiding and then, with a subtle turn, had been given hope for his future as a successful warrior in His Majesty's armed militia. He felt chastised, humbled, and yet – strangely hopeful, in spite of his ensuing punishment.

…..

Later that evening, Turion had mused for hours over the – _conversation_ – he had had with the Silvan. Oh he knew he had been pushing him for days now, testing the boy's limits until he had finally cracked, and yet Turion had not expected him to simply address the subject with such candor – the boy's decision to seek him out had been correct, however much he failed to see that at present. Nay, it had been this – this veiled _hatred_ he sold as simple pride for his people. Turion did not buy it, indeed it was a lie the boy had invented, and then come to believe himself, a defense mechanism not even Legolas had managed to recognize for what it was.

It would do Legolas good, to think on the cruel words Turion had thrown at him. They would harden him for it would not be the last time the boy would endure such harsh treatment. If Legolas could, indeed, recognize the hatred and the grief that lurked beneath his own beauty, he could transcend that part of himself, the part that held him back and when that happened – there would be no barriers – no limits to what this one could achieve.

Turion was old, and he was of the Sindar. He chose this job, not for the fame and fortune but because he was a true warrior, his sense of duty and honor almost unparalleled save for a select few. It was not a sought after position but it was the most rewarding for it was _here_ , at the base of the tree, where one could admire the saplings and ponder on what they would become, given the correct amount of water, sunshine, and a favorable wind.

What would Lainion make of him, he wondered. Would it be too early to claim his find? Perhaps. He would wait and watch and if he _was_ right, well, Turion would have his own candidate, and a chance at the game he had been playing for centuries with his friend. One more sign was all he needed.

…..


	3. A Song on the Air

Once again, thank you everyone for the encouragement. Naledi, Cheekybeak – you are stars, and it's great to see so many of you back with this new story. Motivation is strong and writing is furious hence – another update!

Chapter three: A Song on the Air

The tree hummed in joy for the one who sat amongst its exposed roots; Legolas, still unaware of its presence in his mind, unable to recognize its comforting song brushing upon his eternal soul.

Long hair, braided only at the temples, fell back until the tips reached his lower back and his face met the sun' rays full on.

In his mind's eye, he returned to Land Galadh, his village, his home and his people. He saw Amareth's cottage, smoke billowing from the chimney top, the thatches hanging low.

She would be in her garden now, still harvesting her peas and beans, and the memory of velvety, creamy soup danced mischievously over his tongue, making his mouth water.

He saw Erthoron, their leader, Golloron the spirit shepherder, and his friend Thavron, romping amongst the trees, his hands stretched out, fingers brushing over the rough barks.

A smile came to Legolas' lips as he remembered those he loved, those he wished more than anything to serve, to return to them the love they had dispensed upon him, in spite of his shameful begetting.

His thoughts turned dark and he looked down once more, his eyes slowly opening and a frown shadowing his eyes. Turion had summed it up in three, cruel lines, had synthesized Legolas' behavior and made him conscious for the first time. The elf was of sharp mind for had seen his turmoil and put a name to it, had explained it all and although Legolas had rejected it at the time, now he did not. He _did_ hate the Sindarin side of himself because it reminded him of what he did not have, what he had been deprived of and for what? What sordid tale would his father tell if he were alive? What lame excuse would he present for ignoring the presence of a _child_?

Deep breaths brought his mind back into focus, the hatred now controlled and tucked away, under lock and key once more. It would do him no good to lose himself in self pity, not when his dream was playing out before him, hovering on the horizon, not when things were going so well.

He smiled again, his hand subconsciously stroking over the smooth root beside him. The familiar tingling sensation moved up his arm and seemed to warm his chest, before radiating out into every part of his body and his smile widened.

He would excel in what he knew he did best. He would train until his muscles screamed, discipline his body until it became all it could be, he would centre his mind, teach it to concentrate only on that which benefited him at a given time. He would love his brothers and respect his commanders and thus, he would climb, slowly yet inexorably, until he reached the pinnacle, the culmination of his dreams…

…

Kitchen duty had been bearable only because the camaraderie amongst his fellow Silvans had been so healthy. He had smiled in spite of it, had endured the good-natured mockery, had even had a joke or two of his own. Now, it was nearly over and the night was theirs to do with as they wished. Of course, bottles of wine promptly appeared, and the Silvan songs and lays had abounded. Ram 'en had even danced a jig, and Idhrenohtar had managed a reel, albeit with a fellow recruit!

Now, well into their cups, the three friends sat with five other Silvan recruits, talking of this and that, until one certain Carodel lent forward with only a slight loss of balance and peered into Legolas' bright green eyes.

"Are you _really_ Silvan, Legolas?"

Here we go again, he thought but this time, there was no irritation, and his recent experience with Turion came to his mind's eye.

"I am – _half_ Silvan, it would seem," he said with a wry smile. "And before you ask, my mother died when I was too young to remember her. My aunt brought me up as her own son and I never knew my father."

"Did your aunt not tell you of him then?" they asked.

"Nay, she never would. I would ask her incessantly whether he was Sindarin, yet I could never get her to tell me a single thing about him. It made her nervous and she would change the subject. I have always known there is some family scandal involved, something – terrible he must have done to be banished thusly by the Silvans of my village, an outlaw, perhaps."

"You are a half-breed love child then!" exclaimed the tipsy Silvan.

Ram 'en and Idhrenohtar closed their eyes and tensed their shoulders.

"Yes," smiled Legolas, much to his own surprise. "Yes, that I am and yet I _am_ Silvan, in all but my colouring. It is what my heart chooses."

"Ahh! They all cheered and with a salute and a clink of wooden cups, they drank once more. It had been so very simple, Legolas mused later, to just tell the truth and feel no shame – for why should he? It was his father who should be ashamed! If he was even alive, of course, which Legolas told himself he did not care to know. As far as he was concerned, his father was dead to him.

"Hwindo," said Ram en as he sat forward clumsily. "You are – destined for _great things_! He slurred. Gollo – Gollororon says it is so…" he finished with difficulty, before slurping on his wine once more.

"Golloron," corrected Idhrenohtar, just as inhebriated as Ram en, even though he seemed completely in control of himself and his tongue. "Golloron," he explained to the others, "is the spiritual leader or our village. He says," he said pensively, creating an atmosphere amongst the recruits and sending them into silence. "He says that Hwindo here has a great future before him. He has cast runes and has seen great battles, amongst other things…" he trailed of, his voice now full of awe as he drank from his cup.

"What else, what else did he see?" asked one young Silvan, his eyes wide and sparkling in anticipation of the tale, for in the Silvan culture, spirit herders such as Golloron, were feared and revered.

"He has predicted that Legolas will be a great leader – perhaps even a _captain_ ," said Idhrenohtar with a smile now, watching as the other youths nodded.

"Well, there are few enough Silvan captains – it will be a welcome thing – we will all want to serve with you, Hwindo!" shouted Carodel.

"What a fine thing that would be," said Legolas, his eyes far away, as if seeing himself sat upon a magnificent horse, leading his own men through the troubled forests, just as he had dreamed together with his friends since he was old enough to remember them. " _Captain_ …" he said.

Ram 'en slapped Legolas a little too hard upon the back, sending him reeling forwards and the Silvan recruits laughed hard, the solemn silence broken.

"To Captain Hwindohtar!" they shouted and then drank, before Carodel raised his cup once more "to The Company!" and the merry little crowd exploded into cheering and laughter that carried on the wind and echoed throughout the glade.

In the distance, Turion watched and listened, and upon his face, a _smug, self-satisfied_ smile spread wide enough to show his white teeth. He would search no more, for this was all he needed, and it was more than enough, much more than enough.

….

The three silvans said a heart-felt goodbye to their fellow recruits who sent them off with a cheer and a smile upon their youthful faces. Carodel had promised to find them no sooner he made it to the next stage, assuring them it would be very soon.

There was envy too, for the three had made it quicker than the rest, but it was not an unhealthy feeling, indeed Hwindo, Ram en Ondo and Idhrenohtar had made an impression on them all. They would not be forgotten quickly, and from this, first contact with the outside world, the lads of The Company had made stronger ties than they had imagined at the time.

As for Turion, he had sent them off with few words and a letter which was to be delivered personally to Lieutenant Lainion, their next Commanding Officer, only this time they would be in the city barracks, in the heart of Thranduil's realm.

"You take it, Legolas. Your, peculiar looks make you the best choice," he had said dismissively.

"I do not understand, Sir," asked Legolas with a frown.

"You will," was all Turion said.

That had been yesterday and now, as they rode through the outer settlements, ever closer to the city centre, they spoke excitedly to each other, their hearts hammering in their chests and their eyes bright with the thrill of adventure.

"So this, Lieutenant Lainion, is to be our commanding officer," said Ram en Ondo.

"His name is not Sindarin, I believe," pondered Idhreno wisely, yet neither have I heard it in our lands."

"Avari, then?" asked Legolas, the whites of his eyes momentarily visible.

The three friends shared a worried glance, for the Avari were feared. In part because there were so few of them, and also because their aspect was so very different from the Sindar and Silvan races.

"That must be it," realized Legolas. "That is why Turion asked me to deliver his missive."

"Aye, well, it is to be expected that as our training progresses, our tutors' expectations will also rise. It will be harder than what we have experienced so far, and, I wager, there will be many more of us at these barracks," reasoned Idhrenohtar, "more _Sindar_."

"And we will be starting with weapons training!" exclaimed Ram en Ondo, " _finally_!"

They laughed and joked for a time, before slipping back into contemplative silence for a while, for there was so much to think about, and the more they thought, the more butterflies danced and fluttered in their stomachs.

"You were good with our new friends in the forest, Hwindo. In spite of their questioning, you held your own. It will do you good where we now go, for you will surely be asked the same questions," predicted Idhrenohtar.

"Aye, telling the truth has been a revelation to me. Not to say I enjoy talking about that side of myself, but at least now I can do so without losing my temper," he said seriously, but Idhrenohtar, it seemed, was not quite so sure.

"Guard yourself, Legolas, for this will not be like the forest. You have learned, yes, but do not trust blindly to that," he said. His eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. "Our superiors will be Sindarin – do not get on the wrong side of them."

Legolas did not answer but his eyes lingered on his friend for a moment, wondering whether he was right, and whether or not he truly _could_ hold his own now, defend himself without losing his composure. It was a test, the first thing of import he would learn on this long road to warriorhood – how to control himself and his emotions.

Yet in one thing Turion had been wrong, he thought. While it was true that hatred had, and still did, form a part of his problem, as he had now come to realize, it was not the only reason he called himself Silvan. There was something else, some, deep thing inside him that called to him. However, it was such an abstract thing that he simply could not put words to his emotions, indeed he had not even spoken of it to his brothers.

 _You will come to know yourself_ , Turion had said. Well perhaps he would, thought Legolas. Just one month ago, he would never have imagined that the first thing he would learn would be about himself.

…

The more they travelled the city road, the bigger the constructions became, and the busier the road, until first, small groups of cottages appeared, before giving way to what seemed to be a peripheral area with streets and stalls and everything one would expect from a rich and prosperous town.

Following Turion's instructions, they turned at the market square, resisting the urge to dismount and run wild amidst the stalls of rich cloth, baubles and hot snacks. At the end of this path stood the large, stone building that would be their home for who knew how many months.

Each took a deep breath before spurring their horses on until hooves clattered upon the stone courtyard and stable hands appeared, gesturing for them to dismount.

The three friends send a quick goodbye to their mounts, before looking around in wonder, their mouths hanging open and their eyes round and wide.

To one side, scores of elves worked in the fields. Some sparred, others moved in perfect formation from one side to the other, and the fierce shouts from instructors pierced the air. This was what they had come for, their dream would finally come true; all they had to do was keep their mouths shut, learn as much as they could, and exert themselves to the best of their ability.

And stick together, Legolas told himself.

They looked at each other with excited grins, before walking briskly towards the open doorway, and into the imposing building where armored elves stood at either side of the entrance. Ram 'en wanted to stop and admire the workmanship, but Idhreno yanked on his cloak and whispered in his ear, "bumpkin…"

Soon, a guard approached them, his hand held out towards them, albeit his eyes were riveted to the floor, as if his mind were elsewhere.

"Orders," he snapped.

"Only that we report to Lieutenant Lainion," said Legolas.

The guard looked up, but instead of leading them away, he froze where he stood, his eyes widening and his ears moving to the back of his head, momentarily smoothing out the lines upon his forehead.

Righting himself immediately, he straightened his tunic. "Yes, well, follow me," was all he said curtly and Ram 'en smiled mischievously.

"It must be your good looks," he whispered to his friend, who returned the smile with a flash of pearly white teeth.

The guard wrapped upon a massive wooden door, then stepped aside as the two panes swiveled inwards, and orange candle light came into view. There, at the back of the room, sat an elf at a table so large it made him look strangely small.

"Come."

The three friends walked forward, slower now, until they stood before the impressive desk. They did not quite manage to stifle their gasp as the elf looked up for the first time and revealed what they could only later describe as ' _remarkable'_ features.

His skin was the color of autumn leaves and his eyes were strangely slanted, bright blue irises shining with power and keen intellect. He _was_ an Avari, they realized, their conjectures had been correct.

Lainion too, stared back at Legolas, his eyes moving up and then down, until they fixed upon Legolas' own eyes.

"You have something for me," he said simply, his voice too deep for such an exotic face, mused Legolas.

"Yes, Sir," he said as he fumbled with his tunic and removed the parchment Turion had given him.

Holding out his hand, Lainion took it and unfolded it, his eyes latching onto the familiar script of his friend.

 _Lieutenant Lainion,_

 _Before you stand three new Silvan recruits – yes, Silvan, even the pale one whom we have come to call 'the silvan'._

 _I trust you will see fit to include them in your training program. We have taught them all we can, but their skill level is considerably beyond that of their fellow recruits, who will be joining you later._

 _I will see you soon, my friend. You found Farion, but I have found 'the silvan.' Let it be known._

Lainion's smile slipped and his surprise was, for a brief instant, readable upon his strange face. It was quickly veiled though and he folded the parchment, shoving it into his tunic. Indeed he had found Farion, his best recruit so far who was now a novice warrior serving in the East. He was destined for leadership and Lainion had indeed boasted his find to his friend. From then on it had been an ongoing game and Lainion was now intrigued by what Turion suggested was his own find.

"Come with me," he said simply as he walked towards the door, his gait powerful, feline almost.

They passed recruits as they walked down multiple corridors, passed mess rooms and leisure halls. There were bathing rooms and a heeling ward, a weapons hangar the three friends yearned to investigate. But they could not stop for Lainion did not and so they followed his brisk pace until finally, they came to the sleeping quarters.

"The rest of the day is for yourselves. Wander freely. Your room mates will orientate you. I will see you tomorrow, when your training will begin," he finished, his words simple and direct, his eyes resting once more on Legolas, before striding from the room, leaving them alone and bewildered.

"For the love of the Valar," exclaimed Ram en Ondo with a sonorous rush of air.

Idhrenohtar heaved a mighty breath of relief before sitting heavily on what seemed to be a free bed.

Legolas, however, simply stood, his mind elsewhere, and it took a shove from Ram 'en to bring him back.

"Funny eyes…" he murmured.

"Well _you_ can talk!" exclaimed Ram 'en, "but yes, he _is_ strange and I for one will not be crossing him," he resolved as he moved towards an adjacent bed, claiming it as his own.

But Legolas had not moved. He simply turned his head to his friends, but his eyes were far away. "The way he looked at me," he murmured.

"Well, maybe he fancies you," said Idhrenohtar as he inspected the bedding.

"No, no it's not that. It was – it was as if – as if he _recognized_ me…"

…..

Lainion sat at his oversized desk, his finger drawing circles over the uneven wood as he pondered the situation.

Turion reckoned he had found a 'candidate', but if Lainion's suspicions were correct, something he was not at all sure about, his friend had, unwittingly, found much more than that. The question was, what should he do? Voice his suspicions and risk error? He would need to think on it, sleep on it, and tomorrow, after the day was done and he had observed the boy a little closer, he would make his decision.

 _Tomorrow…_

….

"Forward, forward, side, arc, down! – Again, forward, forward, side, arc, down! Again…"

They had been at it for an eternity and Legolas now understood why they wore only breeches and boots, for sweat dripped from his body as it had never done before. His throat was parched and his long hair stuck to his neck, albeit he had braided it as his tutors had shown him.

Idhreno and Ram'en were in a similar state but the three were nowhere near their limits. Many recruits had faltered or even stopped, and had received the most spectacularly embarrassing tongue-lashings, both in Sindarin and the Silvan dialect, and all the while, the strange Avarin lieutenant, Lainion, watched from afar.

"Stop. Five minutes for water!"

The recruits groaned and threw themselves to the floor while others ran to the barrels and scooped water into wooden bowls, drinking greedily.

Ram 'en turned to his friends and grinned, before jumping twice and showing them he was nowhere near exhausted. Idhreno and Hwindo laughed merrily as they drank sparsely, throwing the rest of their water over their heads.

One unfortunate recruit had drunk too much too fast, and was now paying the price as he vomited his water miserably.

Hwindo placed a hand on his heaving shoulder, but said not a word. It was enough though, to draw attention to himself and he soon heard his name called – his _new_ name.

"Silvan!"

Slowly, Hwindo turned to see a smirking recruit, two others behind him, staring impertinently.

Within seconds, Idhreno and Ram 'en were behind him, staring just as intently as the three before them.

From afar, the tutor, realizing there was a potential situation unfolding, made to break them up, but Lainion's strong hand stopped him.

"Wait," he ordered simply.

"They may fight," started the tutor but Lainion interrupted him.

"I take responsibility, just wait."

And so the two instructors watched and analyzed, tucking the valuable information away for future use.

"What is it you want, Sinda?" said Legolas, his lovely face now straight and set, his large green eyes glinting dangerously.

"Oh, just a question, nothing of import. Tell us – why a Sinda wishes to be Silvan – are you _ashamed_?" asked the recruit, that annoying smile still plastered falsely on his angular face.

"Your deduction is incorrect, Sinda. I _am_ Silvan, you will it or not."

"Oh yes, yes, we can see that – look here. Long long hair of pale wheat, skin whiter than white, eyes of green moss – you are no _Silvan,_ " he sneered.

After a while, Legolas responded calmly, no signs of the turmoil he felt on the inside.

"Think what you wish, Sinda. Tis of no import."

"Oh but it _is_ – see we think you, are a _half_ -breed," he smiled again.

"And your point is?" retorted Legolas, still calm.

The smirk vanished and the recruit walked towards Hwindo until he was almost nose to nose.

"You are arrogant, can you not just answer a simple _question_ , boy?"

"And what is the question?" asked Hwindo, his eyes never faltering from those of his antagonist.

"Pray I do not need to fight alongside you on the battle field, _half-breed_ ," spat the elf.

"You may have to, one day."

The recruit held Legolas' gaze for as long as he could, but soon looked away, the intensity of it too much.

"Pray I do not, for you will find no help from me," he sneered.

Legolas simply smiled, and watched as the Sinda and his group of friends walked away.

"Well done," murmured Idhrenohtar, as Ram en Ondo's massive hand slapped him on the shoulder.

The tutor turned to Lainion then, a question in his eyes.

"That is Turion's find. They call him the _Silvan_."

"Well, for one so young and – green – he holds himself well," said the tutor, still watching as Legolas now sat with his friends.

"Yes, he shows potential. He shows the promise of command…"

"Well, we could do with more _Silvan_ officers," said the tutor, turning to leave.

"One more thing," added Lainion, turning to face the instructor.

"Watch and report – to me only. There is a song upon the air, it comes from the trees…" added the Avari, almost to himself now. The tutor watched him for a moment, used as he was to his Avarin colleague's strange ways, before nodding and striding back to the group.

' _Tis a song of welcome… a proclamation…_

….


	4. Evolution

Author's notes:

I just wanted to answer a guest question regarding the first chapter, or prologue. That scene with Amareth in the storm is actually a moment in the future of this story. Everything we read so far is a flash back with respect to that moment.

Also, I have been asked about the warrior names. Hwindo, or Hwindohtar, means 'whirling warrior' and alludes to Legolas' fighting style. Ram en, or Ram en Ondo means Wall of Stone, this elf is seriously well-built. Idhreno, or Idhrenohtar means Wise Warrior, due to his penchance for philosophizing. This is what they call themselves, amongst themselves, and those that are closest to them also use these names. It will be a progressive thing, however, because The Company is, at the moment, simply a nick name for the group three friends, just like their warrior names. In time, all that will change.

And thank you, guests – I wish I could answer you

Chapter 4: Evolution

Prince Handir sat in the family room of the royal suite, distractedly reading a book on Avarin lore.

It was fascinating enough, but today, his mind was elsewhere and so he closed the heavy tome, a little too fast, sending a plume of dust into the afternoon rays of sun. It was a testimony to how little this book had been read in recent times.

He sighed, his warm, blue eyes turning to the window and focusing on the activity below.

He saw the warriors and the craftsmen, the tutors and healers, the statesmen, lords and ladies decked in finery, but his eyes did not focus on any of them, for today his thoughts were for himself and what tomorrow would inevitably bring.

He had studied long and hard, had excelled in history and strategy, practiced the art of rhetoric and logic until Councillor Aradan had been satisfied, for Handir was the king's son and so, it was not enough that he be good, the royal councilor had argued. One day, the boy would council his own father, their monarch no less; he could not afford to be anything less than perfect.

Few royal councillors had made a name for themselves, mused Handir, not that that was his utmost priority for it was not, but neither was he adverse to the idea of notoriety. The only name that came to mind was Erestor of Imladris. The Noldo was famed for his skill at negotiating – what Handir would not do to meet him, to ask him, to observe and to learn from him. It seemed an impossible task, for Imladris was so far away, and the road so treacherous – and Handir was no warrior.

He huffed to himself then, for what was he thinking? His father would never let him go and so the second prince of Greenwood the Great decided it was better to say naught and dream it was possible, rather than ask, only to have his dream dashed, plucked from the roots.

Aradan had driven him hard enough, and Thranduil had done nothing to stop him. Both had mercilessly pushed him to his limits and now, tomorrow, he would take the test. Should he pass, he would become Aradan's apprentice, a councillor in his own right. The thought set his stomach to fluttering and a weight settled in his chest. He was nervous…

His elder brother stood before the magnificent full length window, rigid as the stone wall beside him. He moved not an inch and it seemed to Handir that he was not real, a portrait almost, a moment frozen in time, until a strand of hair dance around his temple and brought him to life. His hands were clasped behind his back for Rinion was always alert, always standing to attention, his head high, frosty blue eyes dangerous and foreboding. He rarely smiled, rarely touched anyone in affection. He was as cold as the northern glaciers, and just as ruthless.

Handir suddenly felt alone, in spite of his brother and yet it had not always been that way. He still remembered the days of carefree frolicking, when they would play and laugh and hug and kiss, and both parents had basked in the love and pride they had for their three children. It was what held them together - their children.

But all that had changed, one strange day when the Queen had announced her departure. Rinion and Handir had been adults, and Maeneth only barely past her majority. Still all three were old enough to read between the lines, to see beyond their mother's lame excuses which they simply had not understood, still did not. Hence the love they once lavished upon her turned sour, for how could she leave her children? What terrible thing had been done to her that she would turn her back on them in search of her own happiness?

She had left and Thranduil became numb. They had shouted, then pleaded, begged him for the truth but he would not yield. Their frustration slowly turned to disdain, to rejection and the loss of affection, and only the passing of time had tempered it, put it into perspective and made it bearable for them. Of course scandals such as these were never kept secret for long, and sure enough, the three siblings came to hear the rumours – heard them and believed them, for they made sense.

Their father had erred, had been unfaithful to their mother and she, unable to understand or condone, had simply left. It hurt because her own feelings of betrayal seemed to have been much stronger than the love she had for her children. It had stung and each had reacted in their own, unique way.

Handir was lucky, he knew, for the friendship he shared with Thurinor, a fellow apprentice, and Lainion, his ex body guard. The strange Avarin warrior had taught him much, had supported him in his times of need when his cold brother would not, and his father cared not, caught as he was in his own web of sorrow.

Lainion was as an older brother, the one he would always seek out should he need an ear, advice, or simply to vent his frustrations, indeed the very thought of Lainion now brought a smile back to his face for no one would ever imagine the heart he possessed, for to look at him was to tremble in one's boots and yet at home, with his sister and his nephew, he was one of the most sensitive elves Handir knew.

His thoughts were interrupted, for the king had arrived, and his mind was no longer free to wander…

…..

Weeks had passed, and their training had gone well, or so Legolas thought. He had learned many things, most of them theory and logistics, bird call and strategy and he had enjoyed it all; never again would he confuse a warrior with a nuthatch! He scolded himself lightly.

During the time he spent learning, his mind had opened and the cogs of his own imagination had begun to turn, and ideas bombarded him so that he took quill to parchment and wrote them down – as if all those ideas had been slowly but subconsciously forming in his mind, waiting only for the right stimulus. He had observed and marvelled at it all and he had also seen that which did not seem to work.

He had devised for himself and his friends, a pre and post training session in which they would stretch and prepare their muscles. It worked so well that by the end of their training periods, they were the only ones who did not feel the uncomfortable pull on their muscles, who did not suffer cramps as others did.

Legolas had also learned to centre his mind, to reject that which would distract him, and retain only those functions that governed the warrior. It was a nascent skill which he then taught Ram en Ondo and Idhrenohtar; together they would take to their own personal limits but the immediate results had been clear. Their attention did not waver, their movements were more precise, and they better anticipated the movements of their opponents.

Thus sat Legolas now, alone for the moment upon the field. Cross-legged, his eyes were closed and his mind in that place where the warrior resided, ruled.

Straightening himself he stretched his back and rolled his shoulders, now considerably more muscled than they had been just weeks before.

Breathing deeply, he rose to his feet and then doubled backwards until he stood upon his hands, his arms straight. Concentrating, he stilled the tremble of muscles until he was completely still. This, was how the three Sindar found him.

"What is he doing?" asked one with a malevolent sneer.

"Perhaps he wishes to join the king's buffoons –"

"You would do well, _freak_ …" said another, watching their victim expectantly.

Legolas bent from the abdomen, his legs straight until he stood elegantly, his plaited hair falling back into place, his face straight for his mind was still where he had sent it.

Circling now, one reached out and flicked the end of a side plait. "You are pretty, there is no denying," he murmured as the others jeered. "Lovely hair and striking eyes, perhaps it is not the king's buffoons you should join but his _courtesans_ – they do say our lord enjoys a bit of this and a bit of that…"

Legolas calmed himself for his mind threatened to rebel against his instructions and beat the fools to a pulp. Instead he remained silent, and watched.

"You do not defend yourself, _Silvan_. Have you no words for me today, no witty rebuke?" said the Sinda provocatively.

Silence still, and the would-be warrior became impatient with his victim's lack of response.

"We don't like you, boy. You are a freak, a bastard, a half-breed…" he mocked, his mouth close to Legolas' ear so that his hair moved together with the insults.

"You are becoming strong," said another as he slapped the taut abdomen, a little too hard, before slamming his fist into Legolas' mid section, doubling him over with a wheeze.

"That's it, _breath_ , boy…" said another as he landed a punch to the kidney and then stepped back to watch.

"He doesn't want to fight," he said to his friends, a little annoyed it seemed that their victim did not give them reason to continue.

"Yes that _is_ a pity," said their leader – "tis just as well that we _do_ …" and with that, the three converged upon a still gasping Legolas and beat upon him until he fell to the ground, their shouts of glee and encouragement finally reaching the others as they approached the training field. It was Idhreno and Ram en who broke into a run, a frantic tutor just behind them.

Ram 'en rushed the three, barreling into them until they sat upon their backsides, their expressions one of complete and utter shock. He would have killed them, thought Legolas later, had he not been held back by Idhreno and their instructor.

"Everybody back to the barracks! Legolas, Borhen – with me, _now_!" he growled.

It was all he said and Idhreno's jaw clenched at the tutor's attitude, for he had not even inquired as to Legolas' state. As it was, he still sat, blood pouring from his nose, his lip split, and red blotches had already blossomed around his chest and back.

Ram en stood ominously over the other two antagonists as their leader was marched away together with a trailing Legolas, shirtless and bloodied, and the Wise Warrior could do nothing more than watch, until they faded into the distance. Turning, he walked towards where Ram en still towered over the two Sindarin boys, the other recruits watching with baited breath.

Idhreno was indeed wise, _and_ he was a warrior. He was calm and collected, of sharp wit and intelligence, but he too had his limit.

"Ram 'en. There is one for you and one for me, and I wager our Silvan brothers here deserve a little – _entertainment_ of their own. What say you? He asked, his face now turning to meet that of his brother, his jaw clenched, his eyes but slits of glinting steel and Ram en sneered.

Turning as one, they set upon the two as a puma stalks her pray, only one word echoing hollowly, pleadingly throughout the glade.

"Please…"

…..

Borhen and Legolas stood to attention before a surprised Lainion, who stood and moved in front of his desk, his slanted eyes moving from one to the other, before turning to the tutor in silent question.

"I found Borhen and two others atop Legolas. I cannot say who started the fight, sir, nor the cause of it."

Lainion remained silent as he moved to stand before them, too close for comfort and Borhen swayed backwards.

"Why is your face untouched and his beaten?"

"He tried, Sir, but could not land his blows."

Lainion held the blue gaze for a while, reading the boy's words, before moving to Legolas and asking a similar question.

"Why is your face bloodied and his untouched?"

"Because I will not raise my hand against a fellow warrior, Sir."

Lainion's head snapped up and his eyes met the strange green ones of the Silvan, as if he was seeing him for the first time.

"Tutor, see to it that Borhen's father is informed of his son's misdeed. That should be punishment enough I wager," he said, waiting for the tutor to salute, and watching as the Sinda was marched away, leaving him alone at last, with the wounded woodelf.

"Sit," was all he said as he gestured to a chair before his desk. Lainion however, stepped outside the office and gave instructions to the guard at his door before returning.

"Now – why did you not defend yourself, Legolas?"

"It does not feel right, Sir, to fight amongst ourselves."

"But you understand that your circumstances, your looks, would surely earn you some antagonism, you are young but you are not foolish."

"Yes, Sir, I did expect it and yet… I, permission to speak freely, Sir?"

Lainion simply gestured with his hand as he sat to listen.

"We are servants of our king and our people. Our mission is surely one of service, humble and disciplined. We train in order to defend, to sacrifice ourselves for others should the need arise. Tis a lofty thing, a noble cause – the most noble," he added emotively. "A warrior is the one I most look up to, the one I respect above all others save our king. As such, I will not raise my hand against a fellow warrior…"

Lainion stared back at the bloodied recruit with long long hair and strange eyes. He had made his decision. Turion had been right, and so had he. His suspicions turned to surety and the finer hairs of his neck stood on end at the implications.

"I share your vision, Legolas," he said calmly, "I will not punish you for there is no reason to do so, but have a care," he added, "for Borhen the son of a Lord, his father is close to the king's family."

To Lainion's surprise Legolas' features remained calm.

"He is a warrior, whatever his origins may be. Thus, I owe him my utmost respect in spite of his behavior. I do not, however, have to _like_ him…" he said, knowing full well he had risked that last sentence. He was pleased, however, when Lainion did not censure him for it.

"Between you and me, Legolas, you have taken the words out of my very mouth.

Turion was right," he said, and Legolas' eyes filled with curiosity.

"Instructor Turion?" he asked rhetorically.

"Yes. He saw promise in you and now – so do I."

Legolas smiled and then winced as his split lip opened again. Just then, Antien walked into the room with a cloth sack over his shoulder and a bowl of steaming water in his hands. Moving deftly, he applied a herb infused cloth to Legolas wounds, and then moved his hands down his chest and back, pushing down here and there until he was satisfied.

Nodding to Lainion that his work was finished, he left the room with a tut and a shake of his head. Disagreements such as these were not, it seemed, so strange.

…

When Legolas finally returned from Lainion's office, he had found his friends standing together with various other recruits. Only Idhreno would meet his gaze though, and Legolas found he could not read it. As for Ram 'en, he was oblivious, lost in a sea of seething wrath.

"I will beat his Sindarin hide into a pulp, wipe his arrogant sneer from his pathetic…"

"Ram 'en Ondo,"

"I will have his guts upon my plate and…·

"Ram 'en!"

"Leave me _be!"_

"Control yourself!"

"How _dare_ he?" he roared. "He thinks he is better because he is Sinda? Because he is the son of a lord! Where is his humility? His service to his people – his Silvan people?"

"Ram 'en – stop. Have you not had enough?"

"NO!. And whatever you do, do not let me walk out of that door because if I do I will find him again and send him crawling back to court, where he should never have left. Warrior? He knows not the _meaning_ of the concept!"

Legolas froze, _'again_?' – Ram 'en had sought out his tormentors? His eyes slipped to his friend's hands and sure enough, there was blood on his knuckles. Turning to Idhrenohtar, his eyes sought his hands too, and in them found the confirmation he needed.

"I am going for a walk," was all Legolas said, and the room fell into silence.

"Hwindo…" began Idhrenohtar.

"Alone," he said simply, his eyes lingering for a moment, before he walked away, through the common room full of silent recruits, and into the surrounding trees, in search of sanctuary for his heart was heavy, his mind summarily finding the word that matched his emotions…

Disappointment…

…

The next day saw the three friends follow their routine in silence. In spite of his aches and pains, Hwindo had completed the tasks set before him, unaware of the admiration he had inspired amongst their fellow recruits, and had even undertaken their own training program once the instructors had finished with them.

Ram 'en and Idhreno had wisely waited for Legolas to address the subject they knew was the cause of his anger and now, as they soaked in the hot baths, alone at last, Legolas spoke for the first time since the incident with Borhen.

"I am not angry, my friends, in spite of what you may think," he said quietly, wincing as his bruised cheek smarted.

Ram 'en and Idhreno shared a hopeful glance, before turning back to their introspective friend.

"I am – _disappointed_."

Their faces dropped as they waited for him to continue, for they obviously had not expected that.

"I – understand – your actions, but I cannot condone them. You let your emotions rule you and that is a dangerous thing – it is the antithesis of what I want, of what I believe, it is everything I seek to avoid with our training – I thought you understood this."

"We do," began Idhreno, but he was, surprisingly, interrupted.

"No, no you do not. You think you do because your mind understands the need for detachment but you do not _feel_ the need. You sought self-satisfaction, thought only of yourselves for what good will it do _me_ to see their bruises? I will gain no satisfaction from it for I did not defend myself for a _reason_ – and you made my sacrifice pointless," he finished, his face blank as he looked first at one and then the other.

"I love you my brothers but in this – you have much to learn."

They stared wide-eyed at Hwindo, and it seemed for a moment that they did not understand what had just happened and perhaps they didn't, because for the first time, Hwindohtar had become the commander he had always wanted to be, the leader they both knew had resided in him, latent, until now.

…..


	5. Hwindohtar

Chapter five: The Whirling Warrior

Greenwood the Great was slowly falling into a battle to maintain its southernmost territories, which were slowly but inexorably being lain to waste by the darkness that had made its home there. No one yet knew the nature of it, only that it twisted their once vibrant trees and made of them a mockery of past splendor.

It was a battle fought not only by Thranduil's warriors, but also the Silvan and Avarin foresters. Their only weapon was their woodcraft, their innate connection with the forest and their unparalleled knowledge of Yavanna's creation. Brave elves would settle inside the affected areas and clear the blight as best they could, bringing saplings with them in an attempt to repopulate those areas where the trees had been lost. Some called them the pilgrim settlers, while others thought them mad, for they prolonged the inevitable, they said, and taxed the king's warriors – for these foresters were no fighters, at least not in the traditional sense.

Orcs too, were becoming more numerous, bolder, more ruthless, and so, Thranduil had ordered his commander in general, Celegon, to muster as many soldiers as he could, and assign them to the Eastern and Western quadrants. To the land in conflict – the South – he would send his most experienced warriors for it was reported that the air was heavy with a malice that affected the mind, that attacked the very soul of those unwitting of its devices. Only the older and braver fighters would take with them their best, and push back the black tide – it that were at all possible. It would be difficult to fight an enemy they did not yet understand.

'Strange,' he mused, for such blackness, such cruelty and defilement to be rampant there, in what was starting to be called the Mirkwood and yet here – here lay this woodland paradise they protected with everything they had, even by denying its very existence, keeping it hidden form all those that would pollute it.

It was here, that the king of Greenwood the Great now stood, upon the mighty overhang at the back of the fortress, the vastness of the green forest before him, rolling away into the horizon and beyond.

A cool autumn breeze gently lifted his silver locks, revealing his chiseled features, a silhouette of strength and nobility and yet – there was no joy upon his face, no happiness in his eyes – no emotion at all save for the blank stare of a Sindarin lord, a king of elves who ruled over his subjects and secured their lands but enjoyed none of it for himself, for everything he had been, his very source of motivation, had left – gone from his side.

Dark blue silk fell to the floor around his black boots, combining with a lighter blue over tunic that fell shorter than the other. A wide sash of black velvet wrapped his trim body, from which a ceremonial dagger peaked dangerously, glinting in the morning sun.

An eagle's call drew his attention for a moment, his frosty grey eyes finding it as it soared higher. A spark of admiration flashed over his features, gone so fast one could almost have missed it. ' _Would that I were an eagle_ …'

Blank, cold eyes blinked once, sharpening the mind behind, for he was no longer alone.

"My Lord," came the flat voice of his Crown Prince.

"Speak," was all the king could find within himself to say.

"I have spoken to captain Hûron and Commander Celegon regarding the early promotion of our better recruits."

"And," he prompted monotonously.

"They are in agreement. They will make an estimate of the numbers attainable and report to me in two days time. From there, we can be ready to ride in a week."

Thranduil turned in a rustle of silks, his eyes latching onto the sharp face of his eldest son.

"Very well. Secure those villages, else we lose the crop for the entire year," ordered the king calmly, his eyes riveted, daring Rinion almost, to contradict his words, to answer him with his usual cold, biting sarcasm.

But Rinion did neither. He simply stood to attention, arms behind his ramrod straight back, nodding at the king' words.

"We ride in ten days. I see no difficulty; the groups are small and apparently uncoordinated."

"Do not underestimate them. Well you know we have been deceived and then ambushed on three occasions recently – they learn."

"I do know, my Lord. Rest assured it will be done."

And there it was, that note of irritation, not enough to constitute a lack of respect, but sufficient to remind Thranduil of his son's disdain.

"How is the training campaign unfolding?" continued the king after a moment.

"Well so far," replied Rinion with what seemed to be genuine interest. "We have received one hundred Silvan boys from the deeper villages, they are half-way through their preliminary training and Lieutenant Lainion is reported to have some promising individuals amongst them."

"Thank you, Rinion. You are dismissed," he said simply, turning his back on his cold, warrior son who would not forgive him, and facing the Evergreen Wood once more, for only there did the king find some semblance of peace.

Alone once more, Thranduil breathed deeply, listening to the agitated step of his son until it faded into nothing. He was a good warrior, an excellent leader and a duteous prince. He had fulfilled all of Thranduil's expectations as the heir of the realm. It was pity, though, mused the king, that the boy had no heart. But then what had he expected? He was his father's son.

….

His face hurt and his midsection ached from the beating he had received from the three Sindar, their leader one Barathon – _Lord_ Barathon – no less, the king's nephew.

Legolas was disgusted that one of such an exhalted line would comport himself in such an atrocious way. As a noble, Barathon was even more honour-bound to serve his people with humility, in exchange for the luxuries of his life, or so Legolas reckoned. And yet his arrogance, his cold heart and racist mind made for a disastrous warrior and an even worse leader.

And then Ram en Ondo and Idhrenohtar had permitted themselves the luxury of beating upon Barathon's two lackeys, with not a care for the consequences it may bring. As it turned out, their bruises had been explained away as a fall from a tree, something their instructor had not believed at all.

Legolas had refused to fight on principal and he had assumed his brothers would have reacted in the same way – he had been wrong and for some reason it hurt him, as if a part of himself had been torn away.

A pang of anxiety washed over him and he scowled, for his own musings had not merited such a reaction and he stopped where he stood, listening for the source of his discomfort.

But there was nothing.

It was not the first time such a thing had happened to him recently and he wondered at the source of it. It was as if some terrible thing were about to happen and his stomach would flip, his breathing accelerate. It was an unnerving thing and he thought perhaps he should speak with his brothers.

He smiled then, as his fingers twirled a blade of dry grass obsessively. Things were going well, apart from Barathon's antagonism of course. He had learned many things about organization and logistics, about protocol and first aid, and even the basics of strategy. The only martial art they had trained in was hand-to-hand combat, and here, Legolas had excelled. He had followed his tutor's instructions and had been careful to exclude his own, characteristic moves. It had not been the time to draw attention to himself, but simply to earn merit and get out into the field.

Tomorrow, however, was a different matter. It was a pivotal moment which Legolas greatly looked forward to, as did the other recruits for twenty of them would be promoted into the king's ranks and ride out as novice warriors.

He wondered at their skill level in comparison to his own, for although Legolas considered himself good, he had only Ram en and Idhrenohtar to compare himself with.

He was so young, so inexperienced. He had never even seen an elven warrior fight in battle, had never even seen an _orc!_ Another pang of anxiety squeezed his guts at the sudden thought of making a fool of himself.

Well, he had no way of knowing, and fretting would get him nowhere and so, pushing himself to his feet, he walked back to the barracks to prepare for tomorrow and the wonderful things it would surely bring, and as he walked, the dissonance brushed his mind once more, leaving him with a lingering sense of foreboding.

…

The sound of thwacking arrows and the steely clang of metal resonated throughout the training fields, for today marked the beginning of the new recruit's weapons training.

There was exhilaration in the air, for the would-be warriors would finally handle swords and bows, learn how to defend themselves and the people they would come to serve. It was also rumored that Commander Celegon had been ordered to promote the better recruits and continue their training in the field. It had sent a wave of excitement through them all, for who did not want that opportunity? They had chattered excitedly about who would be chosen and where they would be assigned, to which lieutenant, to which captain.

They were young and impressionable, still carefree and inexperienced, too green to bother worrying about where they would go, only that they _should_ go. They all wanted to be one of the twenty that would be promoted today, all wanted to show the commanders what they were capable of and so, for the first time, Legolas had decided to show a little of his own, peculiar ways.

Ram en had smirked and Idhreno had suggested caution, for some of Legolas' techniques would draw much attention to himself. Of course Legolas had argued that that was, indeed the point, and even wondered at the comment for he had expected more encouragement from his friend. Later though, in the silence of the forest, he wondered if it was because Idhrenohtar feared being separated – that The Company – as they had been called, would now end.

Legolas did not think that was the case, for of the hundreds of recruits here, Ram en and Idhreno were well above the average. They would all, surely, be chosen. The question was, would they all be assigned to the same commander? The same units?

His mind focused on the present once more, as the sharp voice of his instructor called his name.

"Legolas. Take Hanor's place on the archery field. Shoot a precision round, and then a speed round. Understood?"

"Yes Sir! He answered, smiling as the others called out their encouragement and the instructor rolled his eyes.

…

Instructors and officers of all ranks stood around the fences, talking of training techniques, weapons, and their latest incursions into the forest. Indeed even though they were on leave, with only a precious few days to recover before returning to the fight, they would not miss this day for all the gold of Erebor. It was an opportunity to gain members for their own, hard-pressed units and so now, their eyes glanced over the recruits from afar, commenting on them, pointing out their fault and their merits, and claiming their stakes.

Lainion stood with his arms folded, watching as the arrows flew, some true and others, atrociously astray, one ear on the tried warriors standing around him, listening attentively to their comments.

"…. most of them Silvan, except for Barathon and, what's his name…?"

Jeering began between them at the mention of Barathon, albeit these lieutenants were Sindar, and Lainion smirked. That trouble maker would be a thorn in the backside of any patrol captain, and they all knew it. Yet what to do with the boy, for much to Lainion's disgust, he knew the king's nephew would be chosen for early promotion to warriorhood, it was a foregone conclusion.

"Look at _that_!" gasped one, his arm straight out in front of him, pointing to one of the five elves currently on the archery field. "Look at his stance!" shouted the elf.

"Yes, yes I see it. It is…"

"Thwack," and the arrow sailed true, into the very centre of the targets, embedding itself to the very base of its metal.

The group of warriors dropped from the fence they had been perched upon and now stood tall, craning their necks to get a better look at the elf with the perfect stance.

"Thwack," another arrow split centre and Legolas was already reaching for another arrow.

He fired three more, taking careful aim, and the warriors stood watching in silence, until one finally spoke.

"That was precision. Let's see how the boy fires at speed."

They murmured between themselves, before falling into silence once more as the boy adopted his stance once more, his right hand flexing, his left shoulder rolling back once.

Silence.

It happened so fast they were left with their mouths slack and their eyes wide, for this – _boy_ – this, green child had fired so fast they had barely been able to follow his moves, and as their eyes travelled now to the target, they found five quivering projectiles, deeply embedded at dead centre.

The noise returned so fast it was soon a great din, as they fought between themselves, and Lainion smiled in satisfaction. He had never seen Legolas shoot like that, had known the boy had been holding himself back. He was sharp, for he had chosen the best moment to draw attention to himself. He smiled again, but this time not in satisfaction but in fond memory, because truth be told, Legolas was so much like he himself had been as a child.

The archery concluded and blade work began. The recruits had been organized into four groups of twenty. Each group of twenty recruits were paired off. The rules were simple; use your blades to defeat your opponent. Those who lost would leave the field and those that won would find others without partners, until there were none left. It was a test of skill with blades but also of endurance.

Lainion's eyes found Legolas and watched as he was assigned a different group to his two inseparable friends. 'Good', he thought to himself. All three would have their chances at promotion, it seemed.

The first round lasted forty minutes, at the end of which only one lad was left standing, panting and sweating, as the onlookers exchanged coins and celebrated their winnings.

Legolas' group would take the field now, and expectation was high, just like the wagers that were frantically being placed. Every single elf now watched from the sidelines as the group of twenty boys stood before their respective partners.

A fierce cry from their instructor marked the onset of the round and the recruits began their sparring.

Shouts and grunts and cheers echoed around them as some were defeated, leaving progressively fewer opponents. Legolas sailed through his bouts and Lainion knew they were no match for him. It was strange but this was the first time Lainion had seen the Silvan perform with an opponent before him and yet he had known the boy would be extraordinary. However Lainion would never imagine what would happen in just a few minutes time, would never have been able to predict just what it was that his friend Turion had found.

A gasp from the crowd focused Lainion's mind and his eyes sharpened upon Legolas and his opponent. So far, the boy had used the standard moves for the long sword but now, as he faced off with a strapping silvan lad, he produced another, shorter sword from the harness upon his back. Taking pause he presented both blades to his opponent, widening his stance and stretching his back leg so far behind him his shin grazed the ground. The short sword was swiveled back over the blond head and then pointed at the now wide-eyed silvan, as if Legolas would stab him from afar.

As it was the boy stood puzzled. That quickly changed though, as Legolas moved forward, but instead of facing his opponent, he turned his back on him, the tip of his long sword touching the tunic of the open-mouthed silvan, just over his heart.

Mark.

The boy looked down at his own chest, still not understanding how he had been bested even before he had moved, for all he could see was the crown of Legolas' head, and the long, thick plait that kept his hair from obscuring his vision. Legolas turned to face him, nodding respectfully, and then moving away, in search of his next opponent.

It was over in minutes, and Legolas was left standing alone upon the field.

"That one comes with _me_!" roared one lieutenant.

"Nay, I need him in the Eastern quadrant, the terrain.."

"No – _I_ need him and I will make sure Celegorn understands…"

"Stop!" was all Lainion said and he was instantly obeyed.

"None of you can have him," said the Avari slowly, "for you see, he is already spoken for." It was a lie, but Lainion had his own plans – he would simply, stretch the truth, so to speak.

"By who?" asked one Lieutenant, irritated.

But before Lainion could answer, the sharp, loud voice of his friend told them exactly who it was, who laid claim to the archer.

"By _me_ ," said the newcomer, taking a step forward, his face stern and commanding.

"Turion!" exclaimed Lainion, to which Turion smiled widely now, opening his arms and received the hug his friend offered him.

"We shall see about that," said the irritated warrior, although there was a mischievous smile upon his lips and Lainion returned it, nodding that he understood exactly what it was that was about to happen.

The battle for the Silvan had begun.

….


	6. Strategy

Author's note: just a quick thank you to all those guests I have not been able to thank. Your reviews and faves are much appreciated

Chapter Six: strategy

The heavy oak doors thumped together, the click of the lock telling Lainion they were alone.

"Turion!" he exclaimed, turning to face his long-time friend with a genuine smile. "It is so strange to see you away from your recruits, here in the _city_ no less."

"Yes, well, the circumstances are extraordinary, Lainion," said Turion with an uncharacteristic grin. It was then that Lainion realized what was different about his friend; he was _alive_ – for the first time in centuries the Avari could see purpose shining in his shrewd Sindarin eyes.

"Do not tell me you have come to claim your find," said Lainion rhetorically, for he well knew he had. There was little else that could have tempted this extraordinary warrior to return to civilization."

"Does that surprise you?" asked the instructor, sitting heavily upon the couch and loosening his collar.

"Yes," said Lainion, and then turned to his friend once more, holding his gaze for a moment before speaking. "And no – we have much to speak of. I cannot tell you how – _opportune_ your presence is, my friend."

Turion scowled for a moment and Lainion knew he had picked up on the import of his words; his friend was simply one of the most able judges of character Lainion knew.

"I was right, wasn't I?" asked the Sinda, sitting forward expectantly with his elbows on his knees.

"Yes, yes you were right Turion but – " he paused for a moment, seeking how best to infuse his words with the feelings he wished to express. "But you see, I believe you found much more than a silvan candidate for leadership."

"What do you mean?" asked Turion, his scowl deepening. "Perhaps you should fill me a goblet of wine before you speak, you seem – _unnerved_ ," he said in wonder, "if that is at all possible in you Avari," he said.

"When I tell you what I suspect…" he dropped off as he poured them both a glass of wine.

"How long has it been that you have not visited our lord King's halls?"

"Not long enough," scoffed Turion, taking a long drink from his goblet. I loathe the petty politics and gossip – all those ridiculous things that have nothing to do with the important things in life."

Lainion smiled, for Turion was quite the brute, albeit he was Sindarin. He spoke plainly, with not a thought for propriety, unless he stood before his commanding officer, of course.

"When you sent him to me, even before I read your letter, it was not the face of some green Silvan boy I saw, Turion."

"What do you mean – I know he looks like a Sinda but he's not – not really, it's …."

"You don't understand," interrupted Lainion, holding up his palm. "What I mean is, …."

A harsh wrap on the door interrupted the moment, and Turion visibly jumped, so immersed had he been in what his friend was about to reveal.

"Come!" called Lainion, irritation clear in his voice.

A guard entered with a note which he promptly handed to Lainion, before saluting and leaving.

"Valar, Lainion, out with it, what - …"

"A moment," he mumbled as he read.

"The list has been issued – the twenty candidates that are to promote tomorrow. We must claim our stake and quickly, before someone else beats us to it."

"Lainion what are you _talking_ about!"

"Turion – that boy is from Land Galadh, a half Sinda-Silvan bastard who was raised by his aunt, Amareth. He is the best warrior I have _ever_ seen, even before training, he has bright green eyes – just like his _mother's_ …" the last word leaving him in a rush of air.

Turion's eyes widened and sparkled and Lainion knew he still did not fully understand what he was trying to tell him.

"It was not the face of some Silvan recruit – it was the face of _Oropher_ , father of Thranduil King."

…

General Hûron sat behind his desk, reading through the list of new recruits, and the petitions from a whole host of lieutenants and captains, expounding their reasons for requesting their choice of warrior. That it itself was not an issue, it was the fact that they all wanted the same recruit, the one they were calling _The Silvan_.

 _Who is this boy_? He asked himself as he rubbed his chin. He had not been present at yesterday's trials, indeed he hardly ever bothered, but this time, it seemed he had missed something of import.

 _What now?_ he wondered. He had not the time to read through so many missives, so many arguments. He was needed at headquarters in a scant few hours and details of tomorrow's promotion ceremony must be completed.

He sighed as he leaned back in his chair, his hand moving to his throbbing forehead and kneading it irritably.

A knock on the door, revealed Lieutenants Lainion and Turion, and Hûron was glad for the interruption, albeit they would set him back.

Standing, he returned the salute he was given, before smiling and holding his forearms out.

"I am glad to see you Lainion, and _you_ , Turion! What has dragged you out of your beloved country barracks!" he said with a smile.

"Ah! That is the reason we have come to see you, General."

"No, no, do not tell me you too, have come to claim the _Silvan!_ By Elbereth and Kementari who is this boy? My desk is full of messages and demands and, ' _oh, you owe me…_ ' or, ' _is it not my turn?_ '" he mocked theatrically, before turning back to a now smirking Turion.

"It does not surprise me," smiled Turion. "You did not see him on the field then?" he asked tentatively.

"No, no I did not, so _you_ tell me, then. What is so special about him?" asked the general resignedly, gesturing to the two lieutenant to sit.

"I met him at my barracks not a month past. I knew from the moment we first spoke that he would be a fine candidate for leadership."

"He is Silvan, I assume, given his nick name."

"He looks Sindarin, Hûron, but calls himself Silvan. The point is that he shows great potential – and I would be the one to show him the limits of his possibilities – if you will allow it," finished Turion, his eyes fixed on the general, desperately trying to read the general's first impressions.

"You have been training boys for the last few centuries, have rejected promotion so that you could continue to do so. I do not doubt your educational qualities Turion but you are all out on recent military affairs."

"I am good, Hûron, this you know. You yourself offered me a promotion to captain because you knew I was fit for the position."

"But you refused."

"Yes – because I believe in what I do. Becoming a captain would mean leaving the job I love so much, that is why I refused."

"And now? Should I agree to let you train this – _Silvan_ – will you accept the promotion? Think carefully now, for should you agree – you will not be able to return to your former post. We need all the commanders the Greenwood can yield. There will be no going back, Turion."

Turion looked up sadly, pausing for a moment before nodding. "I understand, and I agree."

"He must be special indeed," said Hûron with slanted eyes, his shrewd mind at work.

"Yes – yes he is."

"Well, I lose a lieutenant, but if he is as good as you seem to think, take him for two years and train him – do your best and if you can – bring back a warrior fit for leadership."

"Two years…"

"Two years. After that we shall see. Now, however much I appreciate your company Lainion, will you tell me why _you_ are here?"

"Because I am going with them…" said Lainion simply, to which Hûron tipped an eyebrow and muttered something under his breath, before standing, his eyes never leaving the strange slanted blue irises of one of his best lieutenants.

"Yes," he said tiredly, "yes I believe you are."

….

The barracks were alive, and Legolas, Ram en Ondo and Idhrenohtar were currently singing a gay melody to the sound of Carodel's woodland flute, much to the delight of the other young recruits.

Apart from _The Company_ , seventeen others now celebrated their impending ceremony when they would, finally become novice warriors. It was all they had dreamed of, but none more than Legolas. He was uncontainable, exuberant in his joy, for tomorrow was the day he had always dreamed of, and his happiness was such that he wanted to cry.

Carodel, the flute player had also been chosen, as had Barathon, something that had surprised them not at all. He was the king's nephew, it would have been inconceivable for the boy to be left behind. Strangely though, the imperious Sinda was joining in the festivities, smiling and clapping to the music. Legolas had wondered at that for he seemed genuinely glad, proud to have been chosen, not that he deserved it, he added in disdain.

All that was left to know was who they would be assigned to, and where. His chest felt heavy of a sudden, because there was a chance he would be separated from Ram en and Idhrenohtar, and try as he might, he could not imagine his life without them, without their support. He looked to the side, aware that he was still young, still vulnerable, still in need of others and he would not berate himself for that. Yet insecurity was a facet of his _past_ life for had he not come so far this past month?

He chuckled to himself then, for what was a month? It was nothing at all. Aye he had learned, of himself even but he was still a child and he would do well to remember that. He only hoped that his commanding officer would make allowances for that.

"You are quiet of a sudden," came Idhrenohtar's even voice at his side.

Legolas glanced in his direction, a rueful smile on his face. "I fret about where we will be sent," he said truthfully.

"As do we all," replied the Wise Warrior, watching the crowd as he spoke. "But heed me now, my friend. I and Ram en will always be with you. The Valar forbid we be separated in this first step in our adventure but should it happen, Legolas, should that happen remember this; we are _The Company_! We will always come back to each other…"

Legolas turned to meet his friend's confident face and he smiled in genuine joy, his face lighting up so beautifully that Idhrenohtar chuckled.

"Tomorrow is for _us,_ to take our vows and become servants to the king. What comes after that we do not know, _cannot_ know. Enjoy the _now_ , Legolas, claim it for your own…"

….

Later that night, Turion and Lainion sat together, a flask of wine between them and the remains of their shared dinner.

The hearth crackled and hissed, and Lainion drank deeply from his glass, his strange eyes shining a deep blue that was enough to unnerve any who did not know him.

"What now?" asked Turion, almost to himself. "We cannot tell the king lest he finish with Legolas' military career even before it has begun. There is no telling how he will react, and I do not need to remind you of his son's – singular - disposition…"

"Nay, you do not."

"If we cannot tell the king, neither can we allow Legolas to come into contact with the royal family – they will surely see what you did, Lainion."

"Yes, Thranduil would see it at least. We would have to tell him before he ever came into contact with our boy and as you say, there is no telling – he would, perhaps, send him far away so that he does not come into contact with his children. His relationship with them is already strained, he will not risk it."

"Does he even _know_? The king, I mean. Does he know he has a child?" asked Turion.

Lainion remained silent for a moment, before answering tiredly. "Yes, yes he knows. I can say no more, my friend for I am sworn to secrecy in this."

Turion nodded, wondering what it was his friend had lived through, for he had been Handir's personal guard at the time. It was logical to assume Lainion had been deep in the king's confidence.

"And what of Legolas?" continued Turion. "It is a miracle he has not yet been told of his resemblance. It is surely a question of time, for now he will come into contact with the older, more experienced warriors, those that fought with Oropher. Rumour will spread until it reaches the kind and we will have the same problem…" finished Turion, staring now, into the orange flames, his own silver eyes shining with intelligence.

"That is the sum of it, yes," said Lainion contemplatively. "I would not tell Thranduil just yet, not until we have an inkling into how he may react but to get that sort of information from him would be near impossible… unless…"

"Unless what?" asked Turion with a scowl.

"Unless I find myself an accomplice."

"Who?"

"The only member of that family who is likely to understand – Handir."

"Prince Handir?"

"He is wise for his years, of even temper and good judgement. It is a risk but ignoring this, Turion, would be a mistake, the consequences of which may prove disastrous for the Greenwood, and for Legolas."

"If Thranduil ever found out you had confided this knowledge to his son, without his consent, he would banish you…" said Turion meaningfully.

"Perhaps, but what is the alternative my friend? That we ignore this thing, and let it all spiral out of control until someone tells the king there is some Silvan warrior out there with the face of Oropher. Had the boy decided to become a forester, none of this would be of any import, but the child wants to be a warrior – a _captain_ no less," said Lainion with a fond smile, "he is too good to pass by inadvertently, Turion. The king _will_ find out, be it from us, or from those that appreciate him less."

Silence prevailed for a while as they sat together, each contemplating their options.

"Perhaps," began Turion, "perhaps you are right. Handir can procure us with the information we need to make the best choice, Lainion. Speak to him, wrench from him an honor-bound oath not to speak of this. We will be patrolling for the next two years, that should be time enough to better judge our options, with Handir as our source of information. If rumour does abound he will tell us of it, and should that happen, I am adamant that it should be _us_ to tell the king of Legolas."

"And what of the boy?" asked Lainion. "What of the comments he is surely to hear?"

"Then we tell him."

"It will unbalance him."

"Yes, but not telling him and leaving him with his questions – I wager that is the short of his entire life thus far – are we to prolong that suffering?"

Lainion knew his friend was right. In matters such as this he was always right. The fact remained that now, Lainion needed to find a way to tell Handir he had a brother, a _Silvan_ brother…

…


	7. You Have a Brother

Author's note: Just to answer a recurrent question: Did Thranduil know he had a child? Did he just ignore his existence? OK, you are about to find out… partially at least!

Chapter seven: You Have a Brother

The day dawned painfully slowly, or at least it seemed that way to one who had not slept at all, waiting only for this moment when the sun would peak over the horizon and cast its rays upon the most significant day of his life; the day he would become a warrior.

Emotion took him and a tear escaped his half-closed eyes, rolling down his temple and onto the pillow below.

A finger brushed over the furry leaves of a fern that had grown tall and strong beside his window and warmth dissipated the leaden weight in his chest, enough at least to clear his mind so that it could continue its morning wanderings.

He thought of Amareth then. His message would not have reached her in time – she would not be present; there would be no one from his family to see him take his vows. _No one?_ he asked himself bitterly. Amareth was the _only_ member of family he had.

That cold, biting, all too familiar feeling gnawed at his mind then, the one that assailed him every time his family came to mind but for the first time it was not so much anger he felt, but sadness, a strange sense of loss that he could not explain, for what had he ever had to lose? he scoffed.

No mother to cry with love, no father to smile with pride – alone, he was _alone…_

He was a child.

Anger clenched his jaw, anger at himself for his weakness. Had he not put these feelings behind him? Had he not vowed to accept the truth for what it was? The only family Legolas had, apart from Amareth, were his friends, the _Company_ – Ram en and Idhreno.

He breathed deeply and rolled onto one side, turning his back on the room and facing the green-lined window.

A warrior, a servant of the king. That was his purpose, to serve some purpose – to _mean_ something – to someone.

A frown flickered over his features for he had never thought of it that way before, that his obsession with being a warrior had something to do with feeling worthy. Amareth had loved him as a mother, and if he added to that the amount of adoptive uncles he had in the village – nay, it was not for lack of love and it was not for shame for having no father.

There was something else, something he had never understood, as if a part of him were missing; as if his purpose was still veiled from him, however much it drove him relentlessly upon his path.

All he could conclude was that becoming a warrior was an innate necessity, but he now started to suspect that it was not the end of the road, simply a necessary step towards a bigger thing, something that escaped him, like river rain through open fingers. What more could he aspire to than being _captain_?

Turning onto his back now, the first stirrings of his comrades brought his mind further into focus, and the lingering self-pity and confusion began to fade, not away but behind his mask that was rapidly falling into place. There would be no proud parents to smile and nod at him as he took his vows and that was a fact, one he must now accept with quiet dignity. Instead he would bask in his friendship with Ram en and Idhreno, in the camaraderie with his newfound friends, and in the hope that family could be replaced with these his brothers, his fellow warriors.

Yes, that is what he would do, he resolved with a smile. It did not matter that he had no father to squeeze his shoulder in pride, it did not matter at _all_.

….

.

Turion watched as Lainion straightened his tunic and breathed deeply. The avari was nervous and that was not like him at all. Not even during those endless seconds before a battle had Turion seen him nervous.

It was a testimony to the risk they were both taking by speaking with Handir on the matter of the Silvan. Should the prince not like what they had to tell him, he could well run to his father and reveal all. They would both, surely, be punished and banished.

The fact was they had no choice in the matter at all. Logic and sound reasoning had brought them to this moment now, at the doors of Prince Handir's personal office.

Turion nodded once and Lainion returned it, straightening his tunic once more, before knocking upon the hard wood and then disappearing from sight.

This was it. Turion would not leave lest he be needed elsewhere, and so he sat outside the door and trained his ears to the sounds beyond. Not that he could hear anything but should the meeting go ill and voices be raised, he would be alerted…

….

"Lainion! So good to see you, brother. You have been busy with the new recruits I hear?"

"Aye, the barracks have been eventful of late, I cannot deny that."

"Well, what brings you here? Is there some business to discuss, or are we free to wander outside?" asked Handir with a smile.

Lainion realized just how much his former charge had changed, matured so quickly into what seemed now to be an experienced man of state. It had been ten years since he had no longer been needed as a personal guard and Thranduil had reassigned him to his current post. The boy had grown, his mind sharpened, no longer so naïve, subjugated to the will of his firey brother or his cold, blank father.

"Both, truth be told, but there I nothing to stop us from speaking outside, indeed I would prefer it," said Lainion. It made sense of course, for what he had to say could not be overheard by anyone, and Turion would make sure they were not spied upon in the woods.

"Then come, we walk and we talk" said Handir. "It has been so long since I enjoyed such a simple moment of pleasure."

"I hear you passed the grade for councilor – well done, brother," he smiled, watching as the boy's face lit up with pride at his words. He had changed, but he was still young, still needy of approval and encouragement …

"I did!" grinned the youngest prince. "I am now, officially, Lord Aradan's apprentice!" he said theatrically, making Lainion smile.

"You deserve it, Handir. You have worked hard, I am proud," he trailed off, his eyes shining with pride, for in truth Lainion had created a close relationship with his former charge.

Handir looked at Lainion for a long while, as if he were unsure of what to say, his eyes shining with emotions the avari could only guess at and he thought, perhaps, that no one else had said that to him, had not told him they were proud.

"Come, into the woods with your brother, councilor, for we have much to discuss!"

And so, with a smile, one rueful and the other a little tight, they both left the fortress, chatting about what they had both missed in their lives. Indeed an hour had passed and now, they sat quietly upon the banks of a slow stream amidst a shady glade. It was time, thought Lainion to himself, it was time to change the boy's life forever, and however much he tried, he failed to slow his thumping heart …

"What is it, Lainion? I can tell there is something you have left unsaid. Are you leaving? Is that what you have come to tell me?" asked the prince quietly.

"No, no it is not that, Handir, but you are right, there is something of great import I must speak to you about."

"What you could possibly tell me that would matter more to me than that?"

Lainion smiled sadly. This was proving much more difficult than he had imagined.

"Before I tell you, I must place a condition on this conversation, Handir. I need you to make an honor-bound oath to not disclose what I am about to tell you to anyone, not even your king."

Handir scowled and then looked to the floor, his young but avid mind clearly weighing the pros and cons of such an act, for an honor-bound oath was no simple promise, it was something he would die for, before he could disclose the contents. Handir would not accept lightly and Lainion was glad of it.

"I will not betray my King, Lainion, this you know."

"I do know, but consider this. The information must be kept from him for the moment only, until the time is right, and the reasons are purely for his own protection. Does that make sense to you?" asked Lainion.

"Yes," he answered carefully. "But the nature of the information you give me – I may see danger in not telling the king – if that is the case…"

"No, no. It is not a matter related to defense, or the enemy. It is not about internal intrigues or anything I believe to be detrimental to the realm, Handir, I would not ask that of you."

"Alright," he said slowly.

"Handir, trust me. I take full responsibility for my actions. I ask only that you help me, help us. I have the king's best interests at heart, I swear."

"I know you are a kingsman, Lainion. My father holds you in high esteem. I do trust you…"

"Good."

"You have my honor-bound oath to not speak of what you are about to disclose to any other than to you."

Lainion bowed his head in respect for the trust the young prince placed in him, and he had meant what he said. The responsibility would be his alone to bear.

"Handir, you have a brother…"

The prince laughed. "Do I? He's more of a frozen _stalagmite_ if you…"

"Handir," he interrupted, before pausing, making sure the prince was listening before he spoke once more. "Handir, you have a _Silvan_ brother – one you have never met…"

Lainion's explanation was met with blank silence, but there was nothing more he could say to make the prince understand. Indeed he had understood, only the information had been so utterly shocking to him he had yet to react.

"Handir…"

"Does he know?" was the prince's sudden question, curt and cold. "Does my father know?"

Lainion closed his eyes for a moment, for what to say? It was complicated and it had never been his intention to create an even greater distance between Thranduil and his children, albeit that had been inevitable from the start.

"He knew only of his conception…."

"He _knew_ ," repeated Handir flatly and Lainion could read the growing coldness in his eyes.

"I doubt he knew of the child's fate, Handir. It is a complex story, one you should hear from your father."

"He will tell me," continued Handir, his voice still, unnervingly monotonous. "He will tell me or he will lose me…"

"Handir," said Lainion, touching the boy's forearm to anchor him, to draw his attention back to wherever it had strayed.

"Listen carefully, my friend, for what I have to tell you is of the utmost importance," he began, watching Handir's face carefully for signs of understanding.

" _Handir_ …"

"Yes…"

"Your brother – your brother is young, a fledgling warrior – the best I have ever seen. I tell you this because I do not want him to suffer the consequences of this information falling into the wrong hands, or falling into the right ones at the wrong time. He does not deserve to see his dreams dashed – he is at no fault…"

Handir's head whipped to Lainion and the avari resisted the urge to step backwards, for in his sky blue eyes there was a fire that burned so brightly it reminded the avari – of Legolas.

"And you tell me this – _now_ – because?"

"Because until one month ago, he lived in his village, in the deep forest, where only his remaining family and friends knew and loved him. Now, as he becomes a warrior he has – drawn attention to himself. I know it is a simple matter of time that your father and your siblings hear of him, and when you _see_ him, there will be no doubts in your minds. I seek only to protect the king, protect you, Handir, for well you know there are those in the Greenwood that would use these circumstances to their own ends, their own greed for power.

Lainion's slanted eyes continued to study Handir's face. The fire had abated somewhat, and his stare had turned to the side, a sure sign that he was, finally, reasoning out the barrage of information Lainion had hit him with.

"What do you suggest we do, Lainion," said the prince, a hint of sadness now tingeing his words.

"I need you, Handir, to keep me informed of any references, of the slightest hint, joke, comment or otherwise, regarding the one they call The Silvan. We must correctly judge the time to tell the king of what we have found in the forest… he cannot be left to find out for himself."

Handir looked at Lainion once more and the fire was back. "I have not a care for my father's feelings, Lainion, he leaves me – _indifferent_ ," he stressed, before turning his back on his former guard.

"I do not believe you mean that, Handir…"

The prince span on his heel, so suddenly Lainion stepped backwards as the fine cloth of the boy's robes fanned around him, his dark blond hair falling back into place moments later but his face, his handsome serene face was now twisted into a snarl Lainion had never seen him wear.

"Oh but I _do_ , Lieutenant Lainion. I do mean what I say. He is responsible for the departure of my mother, he pierced her soul, ripped it apart so badly she abandoned her _children_. He forsook her and his own legitimate children for the sake of some Silvan _slut_ , with whom he _dared_ conceive a child…"

"Handir," called Lainion, holding up a hand to stop the tirade that now flew from the prince' mouth.

" _That_ is why he never explained anything to us, for _shame_ ," he spat, "for shame and _cowardice_ for he would surely know we could never condone such an act – he gave her a _child_!"

Lainion wisely waited for the storm to blow over before attempting to speak once more and when he did, it was calm and slow.

"Handir. I ask only that you consider this… we do not know the circumstances, we cannot know until the king decides to speak of it and well I know he never has. I knew your father since before he was king, still a crown prince, your own age. Do not judge him rashly, Handir. You are the wisest of your siblings, the most capable of rational thought – do not let your heart run away with your mind…"

Handir turned slowly so that his back was to Lainion once more.

"Leave me, Lainion."

"Handir, you cannot…"

"You have wrenched from me an honor-bound oath. I will say nothing for the moment…"

"Will you…"

"Yes – I will inform you should I hear anything that may alert my fa.. , my _king_ or Rinion."

Lainion bowed to Handir's back, his heart heavy now with the onus he had placed on the prince's young shoulders. He wanted to take the boy into his arms and hug him, hold his head close to his chest and assure him, comfort him, but that would not be wise, he knew. Handir's emotions were a broiling, whirling cauldron of hate, incomprehension, confusion and hurt and Lainion would do well to leave him be now, to find his equilibrium, if indeed that were possible.

….

Lainion had silently left and Handir felt his entire body sag, a testimony to just how much his former guard's words had affected him. He felt tired, exhausted almost and so he slowly lowered himself to the ground and sat, alone in the glade, alone and numb, shocked to the core at what Lainion had told him.

"…. You have a Silvan brother – one you have never met …"

He wanted to think, to analyze but he could not, for his thoughts flew this way and that, with no order, only chaos and his heart throbbed mercilessly, in a strange battle with his mounting anger – at his father, his mother.

'…. A brother…'

Lainion was surely mistaken, his mind screamed, but the information the Avari had given him had been more than enough,it seemed. If Lainion believed it, Handir could not gainsay him and yet – surely, surely it was _impossible_ ….

But it wasn't, and in his heart he knew the truth of it.

A Silvan brother….

Handir shook his head…

"A fledgeling warrior…. The best I have ever seen…."

His eyes filled with tears until they became too heavy to contain. _That_ was why their mother left, he realized of a sudden as his heart now hammered in his chest, for the conclusion had simply and quite naturally, clicked into place _. That_ is why she could not stay – it had not been a simple case infidelity, a _child_ had been conceived, it had not been a one-night affair, it had been a matter of the _heart_.

All those years of suffering, of not understanding why she had abandoned them, thinking she had left them only because their father had committed adultery, for selfish _pride_. It had not been like that at _al_ l – she had left because their father had loved another woman, had _loved_ her, enough to give her a child.

It made perfect sense, and against the odds, in spite of his anger and his outrage, and the pain in his heart that cut through to the marrow, despite the deep and cruel sense of utter betrayal and the confusion in his mind, he smiled through his tears.

…


	8. Changing Tides

I would first of all like to apologize for taking so long to update. I have been doing the Christmas thing and have been travelling This is the last chapter of Part One of this story, but don't worry – Part Two is coming right up, it should only take a week or so to continue.

I would also like to thank my guest reviewer for the wonderful and encouraging words. I know you know how important that is to a writer, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Chapter eight

Ram en knelt upon his knees, his hands resting delicately upon his powerful thighs. Idhrenohtar sat cross-legged, the palms of his hands over his knee caps and Legolas, Legolas sat against a large old oak with his eyes closed and his mind absent, for he thought on the events of the previous eve, when he had taken his vows and finally become a novice warrior.

It had been surprisingly solemn, except for the celebration that had spontaneously developed afterwards in the Eastern glade amongst the twenty new novices. Even now they were nursing their queasy stomachs and thumping heads. But Legolas' headache was not enough to cloud his memory.

Why he had cast a glance at the group of onlooking parents, sweethearts and siblings as he took his vow he could not explain, for there was no one there for him; no father, no mother, no aunt or siblings. And yet he had spotted the face of a young, Sindarin lord in fine robes who stood towards the back. His hair was of dark gold and his skin white and smooth with eyes the color of the sea. But it was not their color that had caught Legolas' attention. It was the vague similarity in their features, that and the way the lord regarded him. Perhaps he too, was surprised and there was no wonder, for Legolas' features were regarded as unique and although this, enigmatic lord did not have his own, admittedly strange green eyes, his face was familiar all the same.

He had shaken himself mentally, turning to rejoin his fellow novices, smiling at them as he moved to stand beside them, but try as he might he could not resist one last glance at the crowd, only to find him gone.

Well he _was_ half Sindarin himself, and was, only now, coming into contact with more elves of that race. He was physically more alike to them and that thought was refreshing, for his features had always been a cause for comment and yet now, in spite of his unique eyes, Legolas actually fit better with the Sindar than he did with the Silvan. He was not sure he liked that thought and he wondered if, perhaps, he would be allowed to wear his leather bracelets. He mentally snorted at himself for the childish idea but his left hand moved up to touch the braided leather around his right wrist, the band Amareth had given him upon his coming of age.

"Legolas."

"Um?" he responded distractedly.

"Briefing is in half an hour."

Opening his eyes, he leveled them with his two friends, his heart beginning to thump a little too fast, for the briefing would reveal their assignments, and they would finally know whether they would be together – or separated for the first time since they had knowledge of the world.

He quelled his fluttering stomach and hardened his features, but not quite skillfully enough to hide the transformation from his friends.

"The time is come then," said Legolas.

"Aye," answered Idhrenohtar slowly. "Our time together may be short, my friends, for there are only twenty of us, and seven quadrants to cover in the forest."

"The Company will be disbanded then, broken err it truly begins," said Ram en Ondo forlornly, a sad smile stretching his lips. He visibly started though, when he saw Legolas' face.

"Never that, brother," said Legolas vigorously. "The Company can _never_ be disbanded for it is a bond of love and respect; that cannot be changed, nobody can change that, Ram en. If we are indeed separated, The Company will continue to learn and evolve and when the time comes, when we are all three competent, seasoned warriors, we shall come together once more and be _great_ ," he stressed, his eyes alight with the conviction that his words were true. "You will see…. When I am able, I will find you and we shall ride together – for our King and our forest, for our _people_ ," he smiled as his eyes fixed first upon Ram en and then on Idhrenohtar.

"You truly are a leader of elves, Legolas. I have always known this and I tell you truly now, whatever I achieve in the years to come, _you_ – will be my Captain," he almost whispered, his eyes bright with the emotion that pulsed through his veins.

"And mine," said Ram en. "It is our destiny," he smiled, glancing at Idhreno to confirm he was not alone in this. "We choose _you,_ and I swear all I do now, will be to make myself worthy of riding with you, Hwindohtar."

A lone tear rolled down Legolas' smooth cheek, his eyes round and his mouth slack.

"I do not deserve such fine words, brothers. I have yet to prove my meet in battle … I am…"

"Nay – say not useless words, Legolas. There is nothing to prove, only to learn. You do not realize your potential yet, but I, _we_ , we do. From the outside, things become clearer sometimes Legolas. I see your skill as a fighter, your heart as a protector, I see your intelligence as a military strategist, and I see your senses, stronger than any other I have seen. Go forth and learn, and come back to us the leader you were born to be."

He could hold back no longer, all the bitterness of his loneliness forgotten, he rose and took his friends into his arms, holding on to their tunics as if his life depended on it. He had no words to express the gratitude he felt, no way to vocalize the joy he felt for their confidence in him and for the first time he believed, he truly _believed_ that he could fulfill his chosen destiny.

Later that day, the scene would play over and over in his mind, for they were indeed to be separated. Ram en and Idhreno would be together in the Eastern quadrant, but Legolas would ride with Captain Tirion and Lieutenant Lainion to the West. His only consolation was that Carodel would be with him, the Silvan recruit with a flare for the lyre.

Tirion himself had given him his assignment, had seen the disappointment in his eyes and had but smiled and sent him off to prepare. He had dragged his feet back to the barracks where his friends waited. They shared no words though, for they had said them all that morning and so, with heavy hearts and pensive minds, they set about their final preparations for in two days, they would ride out for the first time, as novice warriors of the Greenwood.

…

Tirion watched the novice from afar as he performed his strange exercises, the ones the boy had invented for himself. It was beautiful to watch and the captain found himself mesmerized by the slow perfection of the movements, the power behind every lunge, every arc of the long sword and swipe of the shorter one in his other hand.

Round and round he moved, his blades in slow but continuous movement, slicing and arcing, jabbing and swiveling in his hands, pointing one way and then the other as his body moved to accommodate them – _strange_ , he realized. It was normally the other way round; the body moved and the blade accompanied but in this style the blade – the weapon was the vehicle and the body adapted to whatever movements were necessary.

Tirion cocked his head to the side, assessing the virtues of the concept, watching the clever moves as they were performed at perhaps only a fourth of the speed with which he would need to do so in battle. It strengthened the muscles, he realized, perfected the move. The boy was good – he was very good.

Movement to his left alerted him to Lainion's presence beside him but he did not turn to look.

"I have read of the warriors of Gondolin that they trained in a similar manner – it is so foreign to our own methods and yet there is much merit in what he does," said Lainion, his own slanted eyes now anchored on the novice as he swiveled upon his heels and then flipped backwards.

"Yes, it is in the war tomes, book II I believe. I have read it."

Lainion smiled at his friend and soon to be captain. "How did he take the news?" he asked.

"His face was an open book, Lainion. He looked so young then, faced with his impending separation with his friends. They have always been together, they are his only family and he is still so young."

"Strange, is it not, for to look upon him now, there is nothing boyish or innocent in his movements. He is strangely – _threatening_ and yet, paradoxically – _vulnerable_."

Tirion turned his surprised eyes to his friend. "Yes," he said in disbelief, "yes that is _exactly_ it, Lainion. We have much work to do. We must teach him war craft, we must harden his mind, and we must lead him to closure where his family is concerned; prepare him for the truth he must soon hear, from us."

"And I will see it done," said Lainion. " _We_ , will see it done. He will make a good Captain."

"Lainion," answered Tirion a little too quikly, now looking squarely at his lieutenant. "If I am right and we train him well, he will be more than a _Captain_ , my friend," he said carefully, waiting for his friend's reaction before continuing. "There is something about him – something I cannot put into words – except this. The boy inspires loyalty – _my_ loyalty…" he whispered, the shadow of incomprehension lurking beneath Tirion's stern features and, as he continued to watch Lainion, he saw his friend's surprise. And how could he not be surprised, mused the captain. Legolas was still a child, a child in the body of a strong warrior. He was a beautiful face that spoke of intelligence, a zest for life, an empathy so strong it emanated from him and wrapped those around him in a mantle of optimism and service. How could this Silvan child inspire the loyalty of a warrior such as Tirion? One who had seen many battles, much hardship, one who had ridden the southern reaches – felt the toxin of darkness brush against his soul?

But Tirion and Lainion were not the only observers that morning, for Ram en Ondo and Idhrenohtar watched the scene from further afield, their faces showing the quiet acceptance of their pending separation.

"They will take him away from us, won't they?" asked the Wall of Stone, the surety in his voice lending it a melancholic note.

Ihdrenohtar turned to him, his face set in his own conviction.

"Yes. I have always known they would…"

"Then we must go on, and we must train. We will become the best we can be for he will come back, Idhreno – he will come back for _us_ – for this his Company.

…..

"You are quiet this morning, brother. Has that Silvan representative riled your Sindarin blood," said Rinion blithely as he lounged upon the ample seating before the hearth of their family room.

"No," replied Handir distractedly, and when he offered no further information, Rinion turned to face him.

"Well,?"

A deep sigh preceeded Handir's words.

"I am busy, Rinion."

"You have not but a moment to share in brotherly conversation?"

"Since when do _you_ , indulge in brotherly conversation Rinion? What is it you want?" asked Handir with a flick of his wrist.

"I see I will have to change tactics," said Rinion with a snort, before sitting up and leaning forward. "What did that forest dweller want? You spoke to him privately after the council…"

"Good morning…" came the strong voice of the king as he slid into the room and moved to pour himself a glass of wine.

Both brothers stood and bowed, before sitting once more, Handir's eyes training on those of the crown prince.

"He is concerned Rinion, 'tis all. The crops are compromised by the continuous orc incursions. They fear that by the time our warriors arrive that all will be lost. He seeks assurances."

"What assurance does he think we can give him? We have lost a third of the Western quadrant in but two seasons. Does he think more meat for the orcish scimitar is easy to come by?" he scoffed.

Handir's look of disgust was seconded by a hardening of the king's features.

"Rinion, I do not believe that is what he thinks. What I believe he truly seeks is the knowledge that here, in the heart of the city, the Silvan villagers are esteemed by the Sindar well enough to feel for their plight. He seeks to observe, to understand, to know that all that can possibly be done is being done. He wishes to assure his anxious people that the Sindar are protecting them as best they can."

The king listened silently and Rinion, Rinion huffed once more.

"They seek favor in return for the successful harvest of our crops. They seek to pressure us with the threat of a harsh winter.

"Rinion," said Handir, raising his voice for the first time as he stood and approached his brother.

"You are overly skeptical, Rinion. You asked me what Erthoron wanted because you do not possess that information. Are you now to tell me you in fact _know_ his motives for seeking private council with me? Why so keen to criticize?"

"Because you are overly naïve, brother. You do not see how he tries to manipulate you into sending more troops sooner, more supplies, more boons – he plays on your inexperience and you see it not."

Handir held the ice-cold eyes of his brother, his own blue eyes fixed and confident. "You confuse naivety with objectivity, brother. 'Tis not always necessary to have an immediate opinion – sometimes one must wait and observe – you would do good to try for you speak of our _citizens_ , be they Sindar or Silvan; do not presume the worst possible scenario but more importantly, brother, do not show them you presume the _worst – possible – scenario_."

The king raised an eyebrow, his keen eyes moving from Handir to Rinion.

"Clever words, councilor. And that is all they are. Keen is your mind but you are still so young, have never seen battle and likely never will. You cannot see the sacrifice of our warriors, all you see are the demands of the foresters and the political implications. You do not understand what it costs to protect those villages, those crops," he said as he moved closer to his brother.

"Heed your own words, brother. Be objective and consider at least, the possibility that you are being _played_."

"I never discarded it, Rinion, I said only that you cannot presume that is, indeed, the case. I certainly will not."

They stared levelly at each other for a moment, before Rinion nodded and moved away, nodding at his father before leaving the room.

"I fear Rinion moves ever closer to Lord Bandorion and our cousin Barathon," he said, almost as if he spoke to himself. "With every day that passes I sense a growing – _disdain_ – towards the Silvans. It is misplaced, unfounded, and _dangerous_."

"Handir," said the King, speaking for the first time since he had entered the room, his voice although soft, was loud enough to draw Handir's attention and pull him out of his inner musings.

"Father."

"Watch him. Anchor him if you can. This rift must not be allowed to grow for the Silvans already feel they are treated as inferiors by the Sindar majority here in the city."

"And they would be right," said Handir.

"Yes," said the king carefully. "Alas that is a growing reality, but what we forget is that out there," he pointed to the Evergreen Wood, "out there, _they_ are the majority – and we cannot live without the forest, Handir. If the Silvans revolt, we may have civil war on our hands."

Handir listened to his father with growing concern, for although they were of like mind on this point, Handir had not realized just how volatile the situation was.

"You think it a possibility?" he asked.

"Yes, yes I do. If this slow but persistent skepticism persists, Handir, if those Sindar barons are allowed to continue with their subtle poisoning, sooner or later, with the right guidance, the Silvans will turn on us."

Handir's eyes were wide, his avid mind a whirlwind of information.

"I will do all I can, father, but our uncle's influence at council is considerable, this you know."

"I do, but we have Aradan, Handir – and we have _you_ ," he smiled most uncharacteristically and for a moment, Handir felt grateful for his father's words.

Smiling tightly, he nodded, and then turned to leave, but his father's words stopped him in his tracks.

"Handir."

"Father?"

"You did well…"

It took a moment for Handir to process the words of praise, but instead of enjoying the moment, the words simply confused him. Why could he not simply apply his own theory and take them at face value, that his father had taken a step towards him, had reached out to him, instead of wondering now, what it was his father _wanted_?

He spent the rest of that day pondering the question, for his father was an enigma to Handir. If he had, indeed, reached out in his own, mercurial way, then Handir would take his hand and try at least, to understand him, understand why he had done – whatever it was he had done. He realized then, that the mystery and the scandal, the gossip and the hearsay surrounding the departure of their mother was the product of ignorance. He had not the information necessary to understand, and if he could not understand, why had he judged his father negatively? Was that not what his own brother, Rinion, had done with the Silvans? An attitude Handir had reprimanded him for?

He was a fool, still unable to be consequent with his own words. Rinion was right in that at least, he had much to learn. The question was, could he approach his father and discern the truth from him? Could he draw him out and hear the tale from his own lips, give himself closure – for good or for bad?

There was no saying, only a decision to be taken. Would he try, or would he desist? But then – had that choice not been taken away from him just yesterday? Had Lainion not shattered any hope of a status quo in which the royal family would continue to live its life of incommuniation, of veiled contempt and reproach? He knew he was right, for the finer hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he drew a deep breath.

He had no choice. He must seek a way to draw out the truth and to make his own, founded judgement, end this unhealthy stalemate in which they all simply tolerated each other. He had a brother, one that was oblivious to his roots, one that, sooner or later, would learn of them. He could not begin to imagine the shock of it, and the consequences it could bring.

He visibly shivered, feeling his own conviction bolstered. Handir was no coward, even though he was not a warrior. He would do this, the question was, could he do it in time, before everything spiraled out of control?

END OF PART ONE


	9. Part Two: Prologue

Author's note

Welcome to part two of The Silvan.

This is a brief reminder of the story so far, together with a character list as a reminder of who is who.

I sincerely hope you continue to enjoy the story.

List of characters

Legolas / Hwindo / Hwindohtar / The Silvan - bastard son of Thranduil

Captain Tirion - commander of the western patrol

Lieutenant Lainion - lieutenant of the western patrol

Carodel - warrior in the western patrol

Angion - warrior in the western patrol

Faunion - warrior in the western patrol

Idhreno / Idhrenohtar -the Wise Warrior, member of The Company

Ram en Ondo - the Wall of Stone, member of The Company

Rinion - Crown Prince of the Greenwood

Handir - Prince of the Greenwood

Maeneth - Princess of the Greenwood, currently residing in Lorien

Aradan - Chief advisor to Thranduil King

Bandorion - Brother of Thranduil

Barathon - Bandorion's son, Thranduil's nephew

Hûron – commander general

Celegon – captain of the guard

Amareth - Legolas' aunt

Erthoron - Silvan village leader

Golloron - Silvan Spirit Shepherder

Thavron - Silvan forester, childhood friend of Legolas, Idhreno and Ram en Ondo

Prologue to Part II

Once, the elves of the Great Greenwood had lived in cultural harmony. The Sindar, the Silvan and the Avari had not cared for their respective origins save for the exotic curiosities to be had and the diversity it lent their lives. There had been no division of authority, no casts, no prejudice. Together, they had built a mighty kingdom, a realm that extended from the mountains, where they had built an impenetrable fortress that shielded their true treasure from the rest of the world – the Evergreen Wood, as yet impollute, pure and just as beautiful as the undying lands.

Yet although it had been a time of relative peace, the king had created an army unequaled by any other elven realm, with thousands of warriors from all the races that constituted the Greenwood. Aye they were at peace, but that may not last, he had suggested, prophetically, they would come to realise.

And yet along the way, at some, undefined point in their history, politics had taken a strange turn, bringing with it a Sindarin majority of politicians. Powerful families, including that of the king, placed their firstborn sons in Thranduil's council rather than on the battlefield, and as the time of war faded in the minds of those young enough to forget, the king found himself in an ever deepening circle of ambitious Sindar who found in their Silvan and Avarin brothers, the perfect weapon with which to secure their positions.

They were not racist, they did not speak ill of the forest dwellers, for it was in no one's interest to do so, and yet a division had begun to take hold, and slowly, but surely, the Sindar had found their place of authority, and had taken root in the forest's centre of power – the king's council. Lord Bandorion, brother of Thranduil, together with his son Barathon, the king's nephew, were foremost in this movement, and Rinion, Thranduil's heir, was sympathetic to their views, however much he was not completely a part of their circle.

Thranduil, as shrewd as he was wise, had hastened to secure his own position, not that it had been threatened in any way but the king was ever vigilant, ever protective of his realm. He had married a Sindarin noble and with her, had fathered three children. It was a time of prosperity and relative peace, a time of security and good government, of bustling trade and abundant harvests.

It was in this time of euphoria, that Thranduil had made his biggest mistake, one he lived to regret every day of his life, for with it had come his wife's departure to the undying lands, and his children's hard, cold eyes.

A passing fancy, they said, a whim, but a momentary blink in an eternal life – it was of no consequence for he is king and kings sometimes err. But whereas his subjects had dismissed the subject as anecdotical, Crown Prince Rinion, Councilor Handir, and Maeneth, Thranduil's only daughter, could not forgive their father this trespass. Their mother had sailed to the undying lands, taking with her the secret of how she had been able to leave her children on the strength of her husband's infidelity alone, and Thranduil – he never spoke of it.

And so the rift widened between those of the royal family, bringing with it an equally escalating political situation that favored the Sindar majority.

And then, the times began to change. Darkness was once more spreading from the South and the Silvan foresters were hard pressed to harvest their bounties and to protect their families, and although help was readily sent, it was considered insufficient.

Leaderless, the Silvans organise themselves as best they can, appointing Erthoron as their spokesperson at Thranduil's court. New patrols were to be sent out to the East and West, patrols in which half the warriors were novices and most of their officials Sindar. It would not be enough, they said. Crops, trees and lives would be lost and it would be the fault of the Sindar for not organizing the campaign when first the Silvans had spoken of their plight.

And amidst these changing times, riding in a patrol bound for the western quadrants, was a young novice they called The Silvan; bastard child of Thranduil, he is as yet ignorant of his origins and his family, unaware of the life and circumstances of his mother for it is his aunt that raised him as her own. Only Handir, second son of Thranduil, is aware of his existence, thanks to Lainion who has confided the truth to his former charge, in the hopes of gaining his help in protecting both the King and The Silvan, not only from those that would use this knowledge for their own gain, but to protect them from themselves, from the shock and the grief that would surely ensue.

All that interests this Silvan Sindarin child is the fulfillment of his dream; to become a Captain in the king's militia, and to be reunited with his childhood friends and fellow novices Idhrenohtar and Ram en Ondo.

But destiny is often cruel, albeit unwittingly, and great revelations are about to be made, turning his entire world upside down…

From Greenwood the Great to the Evergreen Wood, from the south-western reaches of a slowly decaying forest to the splendor of Imladris, The Silvan will learn of his past _and_ – of his unexpected future…

Coming soon, chapter 9 of The Silvan. Into the Forest


	10. Into the Forest

Author's note: I still cannot reply personally to reviews, and emails to support at fan fiction systematically yield the same answer - silence. I have, therefore, answered everyone at the end of this chapter, and will continue to do so until the problem is solved. I do get emails but the click through with the reply url goes nowhere - is this happening to anyone else?

OK, onto part two proper -

Chapter nine: Into the Forest

"You know of their origins and you have heard the stories I am sure of it. But heed me, Legolas. Do not overestimate your ability to fight them. This battle is not only one of bows and blades but of the _mind_ ," emphasized Lainion, his strange blue eyes firmly anchored on Legolas' green ones, showing his novice the importance of his words.

Legolas simply nodded as he continued to listen avidly to the wise words of his new mentor, the Avari Lainion.

"The smaller orcs from the mountains are misshaped but not clumsy, do not be fooled. They can be surprisingly fast – and whatever you do, not let them speak to you for they will unbalance you with their filthy words and then take advantage of your inattention."

"Are all mountain orcs like this? Or does it depend on which range they are from?" asked Legolas with a frown of concentration furrowing his brow.

"They are all the same. Now, it is the _cave_ orcs that you need to watch for. They are larger, more powerful, and somewhat more intelligent. Their skill with blades is more sophisticated, but they will also use bows, clubs, scimitars and sling shots they are surprisingly good at wielding."

"What is the ratio of mountain orcs to cave orcs, Lainion?"

"A good question. There is a veritable army of mountain orcs to but a handful of cave orcs, but that does not mean there are few of them. Cave orcs are frequently seen in bands of usually between ten and thirty at most, whereas mountain orcs normally move in larger numbers."

"Is there any truth to the stories of larger orcs, and of the wild wolves that often accompany them?" asked Legolas, his eyes a little too wide as he waited for Lainion's answer with baited breath.

"Yes, there is some truth in it. The more southerly patrols have reported strangely large orcs and stinking wolves, three times the size of their forest cousins. That is all we have for the moment as sightings have been rare, but they do exist."

"Lieutenant, Captain Tirion is looking for you," said a warrior, briefly taking his fist to his heart in salute at his superior.

"Thank you, Angion," said Lainion as he rose from his sitting position.

"Legolas, accompany Angion to gather firewood and procure meat if there is any to be had, you are under his command."

"Yes Sir, said Legolas with a salute as Lainion walked away and he was left alone with Angion, a veteran Silvan warrior he had yet to speak with.

"Come," he said as he led the way into the forest. "So you are one of the early promotion novices – the one they call The Silvan?" he asked lightly as he began to gather firewood.

"Yes," said Legolas somewhat ruefully, stifling the smirk that threatened to blossom on his otherwise blank features.

"I am Silvan - You do not look Silvan," said the mercurial warrior.

"That is precisely the - pun, I suppose."

"It is not funny," said Angion simply, bending once more to pick up a piece of dry kindling.

Legolas wisely said nothing, for he was unsure of this warrior's intentions.

"You are clearly _Sindarin_ \- what have you done to earn the name of _Silvan_?" he said, his manner finally showing clearly in the colour of his words. Sarcasm, mockery.

Legolas anticipated his own adverse reaction and quenched it ruthlessly, taking his time before answering.

"I have lived and loved in my forest home. I am a novice because I wish to serve my _Silvan_ kin," he emphasised before continuing. "I am here to learn so that I may protect my _people_ \- my mother's people." His tone had risen steadily until his final words rang strong and heart-felt, and Angion was left staring at the young novice, at a loss for words it seemed, until he finally looked down, and when his eyes met Legolas' once more, there was a smile in them.

"Well boy, you are not easily cowed and that is a _Silvan_ trait." There was no apology and no more words were shared, other than a curt, "come," and they were away again, in search of food for the patrol.

…..

How many times he had found himself in this very same situation in the past days he could no longer count, and always, the outcome was the same - indecision, doubt, fear…

This time he sat carelessly upon a stone bench, away from the bustling crowds of his father's court for he needed to think - he needed to concentrate and decide on a tactic that would get him the information he needed without earning his father's wrath.

But then, he scoffed, how does one go about asking one's father about how he cheated on his wife, one's mother, especially when said father was a king? It was absurd, for if you added to that that said king was the son of Oropher, well you may as well douse yourself with pig fat and set a torch to it.

The first step, he supposed, would be to find a way of bringing up the subject without sounding conflictive, of making his father comfortable enough to talk about it. It was a monumental task Handir was not at all convinced would work, in fact he was sure he would fail for there was a deep secret confined in the depths of his father's heart. Aradan, perhaps, would be better equipped for the task.

Aradan, the king's most loyal councillor, indeed was deep in the king's confidence and Handir suddenly wondered at the wisdom of confiding in his mentor, spilling the problem in all its glory and then wait with baited breath at the words of wisdom Aradan would surely have.

There was a risk though, and that was the elf's staunch loyalty to the king. It could well lead him to tell the king of the silvan child and he could not risk that. But what if he simply asked on the circumstances, and left out the fact that Handir knew he had a brother, exclude the fact that his father's secret had been made known to him.

Yes - yes it was finally coming together - he had finally made progress. Now, all he had to do was wait for the right moment to approach his mentor.

Soon, very soon.

…

"You! Silvan!" shouted a warrior, apparently of Sindarin origin who sat before the early evening fire together with the rest of the patrol, save for Lainion and Tirion, who sat a little further away.

Legolas looked over his shoulder at them for he himself sat alone. He had not been invited into their circle, nor to Lainion and Tirion's for that matter, and so he sat alone, checking his fletchings as if it did not matter to him at all.

"Bring water from the stream for our tea," said the warrior as his comrades chuckled at their friend's antics.

"Yes, Sir," said Legolas patiently for he knew what they did. They were surely testing him and he would not fall to their bait - he had already endured Angion's test.

Picking up a pale, Legolas started towards the stream but he was hailed once more.

"Use this," said the warrior, watching as Legolas trotted back and picked up the smaller pale the warrior handed him.

Back from the nearby stream, he handed the bucket to the warrior, who, taking it from him, proceeded to turn it upside down, emptying it completely before handing it back to Legolas.

"You did not rinse it out - clean it first and then fill it for our tea."

"Yes, Sir," was all Legolas allowed himself as he once more took the bucket and did as he was told, clenching his jaw to suppress his mounting anger.

This time the bucket was accepted and the warrior brewed the tea as Legolas sat alone once more, and Tirion and Lainion watched from afar with keen eyes.

Not that he had expected it, but he was disappointed when the tea was made and he was not offered a mug of it. Resigned, he continued to whittle new heads for his stash of arrows, until another voice hailed him once more.

"Silvan. Skin these rabbits - we are hungry - make haste."

Rising, he took the offered rabbits and set to work, carefully skinning them, and even returning to the stream to rinse them.

Taking the prepared rabbits, the warrior set to cooking a stew, and once again, Legolas was excluded from their meal. They ate with relish and it seemed to Legolas that they purposefully exaggerated their slirping and their crunching, loudly sucking on their juicy fingers as they relished the wood barbecued meat. His own mouth watered and his stomach growled, although luckily he was too far away for them to hear it. A small mercy, he thought sourly.

It finally came to a head when one warrior began to talk of child warriors who thought themselves special. Of inexperienced novices that were nothing but a thorn in their backsides. Of how they were all the same at the end of the day, that with his first kill he would throw up, just like everyone else.

Now Legolas knew for a fact that that would never happen, he would not allow it. He was well prepared for that moment and although he could not deny a pang of apprehension at the mere thought, he was sure enough of himself to handle it.

And so it continued well into the night, until it was time for his watch and he sat forlornly upon a boulder, hungry and thirsty, his senses stretching out to the forest, albeit with one eye upon the sleeping warriors huddled together, wondering when he would finally become a part of their group. He suddenly missed Idhrenohtar and Ram en Ondo, their companionship and their support - perhaps he was not as strong as he thought he was.

Light footsteps told Legolas that Tirion approached. He did not take his eyes from the fore though, simply acknowledging his commanding officer with a softly spoken "Sir."

"I found this sitting by the fire, unaccounted for. I thought you may be interested," he said, a tinny sound alerting Legolas to the fact that Tirion had left an object at his side.

Looking down, he saw a leg of rabbit and a mug of cool river water. With a glance that was more a request for permission, Tirion nodded and then watched as Legolas' hand shot out and grabbed the meat, taking it to his mouth and sucking it as his eyes closed.

With a soft chuckle, Tirion left and Legolas was left to his feast. Leaving the bone clean and the water drained, he wiped his greasy lips and then smiled. He was not quite there with them yet, but he would be. All he had to do was endure their mocking and sooner or later, he would prove himself worthy.

When the dawn brought with it another day, the warriors found a pale of fresh water already boiling on their rekindled fire, and chestnuts crackling over the hot coals. Four freshly prepared trout fillets lay upon a clean rock, not a bone to be seen, and Angion glanced over at the young novice with renewed respect. The boy sat sharpening his short swords, apparently uninterested, and Angion smiled. 'Well done,' he thought.

…..

The council meeting had not been overly trying, and Handir had seen his chance for what it was. Aradan was in a good mood, the day was yet young, and the king had not requested his presence.

Bolstering his resolve, he trotted up to his mentor and took up his pace, stuffing his hands into his ample sleeves as he was wont to do when walking and thinking at the same time.

"Lord Aradan."

"Councilor Handir," he replied perkily enough, and Handir was encouraged.

"I have need of your council," he said innocently, too much it seemed, for Aradan stopped short and turned to his young apprentice.

"What is it?" he asked in genuine concern.

"It is a - private matter, my Lord, of some import. I would not burden you with it but I know not who else to turn to."

Aradan studied the boy's face before slowly nodding. "Alright, you have my full attention."

"Thank you my lord," he said. So far so good he thought. "I know you are more than aware of my family's - communication issues…"

"Handir, do not use those euphemisms with me. While I am pleased you remember your lessons, we speak now as friends, I dare say. As such they are misplaced. Speak freely and by the Valar, _plainly._ "

"Lord Aradan, if I may. I must first ask that you to consider this conversation a private issue and, as such, to be spoken of only between ourselves."

"Handir, first you will dispense with the formalities and secondly - I cannot promise that. Should you disclose something I feel of relevance to the king, I will not withhold it from him. But this, of course, you already knew," he murmured, looking deeply into his prince's soft blue eyes for the answers to his unspoken questions.

"I do know, Aradan. But my dilemma is this: family conflict is leading to an ever growing rift between myself and the Crown Prince, indeed with my own father. I know you are sympathetic to the Silvan cause, as I myself am, and that you dislike the ideas that Lord Bandorion is promoting. I consider it my duty to remedy this and the only way forward that I can see, is to break the barrier of silence with my father…"

Aradan stared disbelievingly at his young charge, before letting out a withheld breath.

"After all this time - is this not a little - out of the blue? You cannot think me so naive as to presume I would not read between the lines - that there is a _reason_ for doing this now?"

"Nay, I respect you, Aradan, this you know. I would never underestimate you. I simply wish to promote my theory and gain your confidence. I will speak to my father of the same question I wish to ask you. Does that help me to ask for your discretion?"

"It may," said Aradan as he began to walk once more.

It had to be enough, decided Handir, but that did nothing to quell his trepidation.

"Alright," he said slowly and Aradan glanced at the boy worriedly.

"I need to understand the circumstances surrounding my father's - indiscretion."

Silence

"I understand if you are under oath, Aradan. I wish simply for any information you can offer, even if it is a simple impression. I know you were already deep in my father's confidence. I know you know what happened…"

Silence

Handir looked down, his confidence failing rapidly. Aradan was not talking…

"Aradan. This is important. It is not a whim, it is of the utmost importance to this kingdom that I understand him, so that I can defend him…"

"Defend him from what?" asked Aradan curtly.

"From those that would seek to discredit him…"

"And who would do that…"

"Now it is _you_ who underestimate me, Aradan. If you do not wish to speak of it do not, but do not turn the questioning upon me."

Silence

It was not working, his plan had failed. Either he conceded something, or he would desist.

"Aradan. Would it help if I told you what you truly want to know - the wherefore of my sudden conviction to know the truth?"

"Yes - it would make all the difference, Handir," said Aradan slowly, his eyes searching the second prince with a depth that unnerved him.

"And yet we come full circle, for to do so I must have your promise…"

Silence

"I cannot give it," he said tightly. "Yet I will concede this one thing."

Handir stopped abruptly and turned to his mentor, his face now unguarded and open, young and vulnerable, but he cared not for in some unconscious way, Handir knew Aradan was about to reveal something of import.

"… it was not some careless whim, Handir. It was not a moment of weakness that sent your mother away from her children, away from the only elf she had ever loved…"

"What then?" Handier whispered, his eyes filling with unshed tears. "What was it that could achieve such a thing?" he pleaded.

Aradan's face softened in empathy, before he slowly enunciated the words he knew his young charge could never have imagined.

"It was _love_ , Handir. He loved a Silvan woman with eyes the color of summer moss. He loved her as much as he respected your mother…"

The tears in his soft blue eyes finally brimmed before they slowly escaped and Handir looked away in shock.

His father had not loved his mother, he had loved another he could not have… he had loved the woman that gave birth to the Silvan…

"Handir…"

Aradan smiled softly, his own eyes a little too bright.

"I will leave you to your thoughts…" was all he said, before striding away in a sea of tumultuous memories he did not care to relive. But there was a question there too, one he needed an answer to, and which Handir would not disclose lest Aradan give his word not to speak of it.

What to do? What to do …

….

Reviews for Chapter 8 and 9

UnnamedElement: I wanted to show Thranduil is still there, inside the dry shell he has become. As for the company, yes - separated for the first time - they will miss each other! Glad you liked the summary. I knew that was becoming a necessity as the plot is thickening, not quite running away with me, but almost!

Lea1985: Thank you!

Soriousoftheforest: Glad you liked Handir trying to figure things out. He is a central character to the story and I'm glad he's working for you. Enter thranduil - he does still care, in spite of the impression he gives. I had a good time thanks, back with the folks for few days for some xmas cheer!

Sarathestarkidranger: Glad you like Handir, and the other characters in the royal family. Maeneth, the princess is residing in Lorien and won't be in the story for a while longer.

Bella13446: I had fun, thanks - and yourself? You are quite right about the racial aspect of this story. Like Tolkien, I love drawing analogies and much of what I write is a reflection of modern life, of people and their sometimes strange ideas. Glad you got a glimpse at that trait of my writing.

Naiedi: LOL, my text corrector is trying to tell me your name is NAILED ! LOL Yes, the boys have been separated, and you may well be right about the positive consequences o that. When they come back together, there will be more members of the company - can you guess who?

Cheekybeak: Handir would, theoretically get on very well with Legolas - but will he be allowed to? Will he allow himself to? Hum… and Rinion - Rinion is bitter and volatile indeed - as you have already guessed, he will be putting a thorn up everyone's backside for sure !

Kai Dalton: Sorry for teasing but, in my defence, chapter nine is imminent! Your comment about little 'indwo something' had me chuckling for a while there, in fact I am at it again as I write this. Think of his name as sounding like 'window' with an H before it - does that help? LOL He is indeed destined for greatness, and we will get a small glimpse of that in the coming chapters.

Ciel Tombe: Chater nine is coming right up. I am glad you liked the summary and oh yes - give me a couple of chapters and there will definitely be a 'connection' with the forest!

Robo Titaness: Rather than slight AU, I would describe this story as almost completely AU. The idea of elves only conceiving children with one mate comes from fan fiction. For me, beings that live eternally would show much diversity I would think. What I am subscribing to for this story, is that children can only be conceived where there is love - i.e. it is always a conscious act, never an accident.

Guest: Thank you. It's good to be back

Horsegirl01: Glad you like Handir and the interaction between the members of the company. They will be back together later on with new members which will emerge from the OCs in the story. If you have read Arcane Land by Alpha Ori, you may already be able to guess at their identities. Thanks for the kind words, as always.


	11. First Contact

Author's note:

Finally I can answer to reviews! Thank you to you guests - I would love to be able to answer you personally, but alas. Please keep your comments coming, they are what is keeping this story steaming forward as fast as it is.

Chapter eleven:

Angion had disappeared into the trees and the other warriors tracked silently behind Tirion at the fore, and before Lainion at the rear.

Legolas was in the middle, feeling somewhat indignant at being treated like a maiden unable to fend for herself. He had tracked back home with Idhreno and Ram en', albeit that had been for rabbit and other small game. Here, they searched for signs of orcs! The mere comparison, and his own stupidity made him chuckle out loud, garnering the other warrior's curious gazes.

Before long, the forest began to quieten, and his patrol went into a state of pre-alert. Roles were designated, and Legolas had been told that, should there be a confrontation, he was to climb into the trees and offer cover with his bow. Faunion, a Sinda warrior was to accompany him - as if he were a _child!_ he scoffed to himself angrily.

His mounting irritation became apparent when his angry musings led him to miss Tirion's body language, unlike the others who had promptly either taken to the boughs or disappeared into the shade of the trees. Indeed he was the last to scamper up the bark and take his position near Faunion, who glared at him in reproval. Legolas decided he deserved it, for he had been sulking, making a fool of himself with his inattention.

Still a novice, he realised ruefully, yet he was determined to prove himself and so he bore the stern, non-verbal reprimand and prepared his bow, watching Faunion as he did so, yet always with an eye on Tirion, the Captain.

A bird call had Faunion drawing on his short bow and Legolas did likewise, remembering his lessons on bird calls and their meanings. This was it then, he realised. He was going into battle for the first time, albeit from the safety of the trees!

The noise was now audible and Legolas scrunched his nose up in disgust, for the smell was pungent - so much so it made his eyes water, impairing his vision. Swiping at them with his sleeve he rapidly took up his draw once more, unaware of the smirk that Faunion had allowed to escape.

"Steady boy. Do not land until you are ordered to. Take out the archers first if there are any, and if there are none, take out those in the fanciest armour."

"Aye Faunion," he said a little too tightly - he was nervous.

"Aim for the chest or neck.."

Chest or neck, wondered Legolas in surprise, surely the eye or the neck.. he did not understand and made a note to ask Lainion later.

Another call - imminent contact - they were coming and he was ready. His breathing doubled to keep up with his thumping heart, his eyes as wide as they could be and his mouth open. The fine hairs at the nape of his neck prickled painfully and his sight narrowed to where he knew the enemy would appear. He was ready, he said to himself again.

A guttural roar echoed around the glade and painfully in his ears, and the battle was unleashed. Faunion released and Legolas followed him, his keen eye following his own projectile until it embedded itself in the eye of a mountain orc who shrieked and then fell to the floor, dead.

Legolas smiled and then drew once more, letting lose another green-fletched arrow, his smile wider as he watched his second victim fall, its eye pierced.

The group had been small and the archers had not been needed upon the ground, and so, with no more mountain orcs left alive, a smiling Legolas followed Faunion to the ground.

"Clean up - Angion, see to it," barked Lainion, as Legolas watched in awe of his Avarin mentor who he was observing in battle for the first time.

But the dark lieutenant suddenly whirled on his heels and came face to face with a startled Legolas.

"What are you _smiling_ at!" he hissed, taking the young novice completely by surprise.

The other warriors, including Tirion, had gone silent as they watched their lieutenant face their young novice.

"I do not understand…" said Legolas, his worry and incomprehension written clearly on his young face. He thought he had done well, he had not missed a single shot…

"If a warrior bids you aim for the chest, you _comply!_ " he shouted mercilessly.

Legolas made to open his mouth and defend himself, but could not quite manage to get his thoughts together, for the lieutenant's face was a dreadful sight.

"You are a novice, boy. You are not yet qualified to make tactical decisions. This will not happen again," he finally said, a little more calmly, before he spun on his heels and went to oversee the cleanup.

A friendly hand squeezed his shoulder, making him jump. It was Angion who simply walked past him. Legolas smiled timidly before another hand landed in the same place, silent and strong and it was not long before all six warriors had offered their silent support. Legolas had erred because he had disobeyed Faunion, yet he still failed to understand why it was so important to aim for the chest, where the damage may well not be fatal - why not go for a sure kill? It was beyond his ken and he resolved to ask Lainion about it - later of course, for the Avari had been fierce indeed and Legolas had no intention whatsoever, of crossing him again until he had calmed down.

Blowing out noisily, he slung his bow over his shoulder and followed the warriors, for there was dirty work to be done.

…..

The early evening breeze was crisp, and it was just what Aradan needed to clear his mind of the dreams that had plagued him, from which he had awoken with a start, his heart thumping and his soul heavy with pity and shared grief.

Unwittingly, Prince Handir had opened a door long shut, one he had bolted and chained lest his demons escape. It was useless though, for they had slipped through to his consciousness and would not be vanquished, at least not today.

There was no mystery though, for he knew why that was. There had been something in Handir's eyes, something he had admittedly withheld and that would only be revealed with Aradan's promise to not share whatever it was. In good conscience he could not, for the boy offered no guarantees as to the nature of the information and yet - and yet he _had_ to know. His considerable intuition told him it was important, hence the dreams…

Thranduil had been his friend for many centuries, still was, in spite of the dramatic change that had taken place in him after the queen had left him. The people had attributed it to grief at the loss of his wife, but Aradan knew better. It was not the loss of his wife, it was the loss of his _love_ … he felt the desperate urge to make Handir understand, force him to see his father as he had once been, show him that what had happened to Thranduil could have happened to anyone.

It had always felt so wrong that Thranduil's own children should treat him with such frigid disregard. He did not deserve it and yet, when Aradan forced himself to see it from the perspective of the royal children, he could no naught but to understand their resentment.

As far as they were concerned, their father had gone with some Silvan woman of no import and had earned the wrath of his queen, who promptly and silently leaves for Aman, her children left behind without the slightest of explanations other than that she could not stay. Their father, when repeatedly asked why she had done such a thing, had simply remained silent, disregarded their need to understand. And so it had festered until the king was left with two princes and one princess who were little more than strangers to him.

With a heavy breath, Aradan rose and began his short trek back to the fortress. It was decided. He would take a risk and give Handir his promise. If there was some way, any way at all that justice could be done and Thranduil could, at least, regain one of his sons, then Aradan would see it done…

….

"Legolas! Join us," said Lainion in his voice of command. The lieutenant and the captain sat around their small fire, away from the other warriors where, until now, Legolas had been sitting, chatting animatedly. He had them laughing and singing, joking and reminiscing and Lainion could not help but be impressed with the young one's empathy, his ability to influence and inspire.

"Sit," he said, watching as his young charge crossed his legs and waited patiently. He was worried, and still confused about yesterday's events but he had respectfully held his peace, waiting perhaps for this very moment when Lainion would explain to him why he had shouted at him before the entire patrol.

Yet it was not Lainion who spoke but Tirion.

"You are confused and that is understandable. I will tell you why you deserved that down braiding," he said matter-of-factly as Lainion nodded, staring into the flames.

"In battle, it is often the case that the archer's aim is not at its full potential. The excitement of the fight, exhaustion, poor light, an injured companion; there are many variables. It is the work of a good archer to guarantee a hit, whether it kills or simply maims. That way you never waste an arrow. If you take a difficult shot you may lose that arrow - your results will be poor and your companions on the ground will suffer the consequences."

Legolas listened carefully, before opening his mouth to ask the question that was screaming to be freed, but Tirion stopped him with his hand.

"Wait, and listen. I saw your marks and I know you did not waste arrows, but it was simply circumstance that allowed to you snipe, rather than to confront in battle. Had you been on the ground and firing your bow, would you have been able to make that shot?"

Lainion turned to face Legolas, daring him to gainsay the captain, and to his absolute shock - he did.

"Yes - under the correct circumstances I know I could make the shot. I believe I have learned a lesson, but I also trust my instinct in this. If I know my circumstances permit, I therefore know I can make the shot. Had I been tired, perturbed in some way, injured, I understand the need to take a guaranteed aim, rather than one that may send my arrow astray. But that was not the case. I was safely perched in a tree, fresh and alert - I believe it was a good tactic, albeit unwise. I did indeed disregard Faunion's guidance and for that I know I deserved your ire, Lieutenant. I will make sure that does not happen again."

Both commanders stared at the young novice, still processing his bold words.

"How can you be so sure, Legolas? You have never engaged in battle before, you do not yet know how you will react. Your words are based on faith. It is the duty of the commander to ensure his warriors's safety - never trust to faith in that, Legolas."

Legolas held Tirion's steady gaze before dipping his head in silent acknowledgement. "I understand, Captain," he said softly.

"Good. Now, that said, I must congratulate you on a magnificent aim - you have earned the respect of my patrol, that is no easy feat," he said with a smile, all the seriousness and the severity now gone from his tone and his expression, and Lainion was surprised to see the hint of a blush on Legolas' beautiful face. Such contrasts warred within this one, he mused. So mature and intelligent, so naive and unsure, so solemn and disciplined, and yet so confident and - feral.

"And Legolas.." he called after the retreating novice.

"Do something with that unruly hair of yours!"

…

Aradan watched the king as he pecked at the midday meal, his face indifferent, as if he had surrendered his will and simply moved with the errant tides. Rinion sat to his right, eating heartily, his face completely straight and emotionless, his movements abrupt. To his left, sat Handir, graceful and dignified, but there was a far away look in the boy's eye and Aradan knew he pondered his dilemma, still shocked perhaps, at the morsel of information Aradan had not been able to keep from the boy.

"Have the new patrols reached their destinies, Rinion?" asked Handir in an obvious attempt at making the meal minimally bearable.

"Aye. Our captains have already reported. They are in position and already fighting back small pockets of the enemy - they fare well it seems," said the crown prince, always eager to talk of all things military.

"It was a good idea to promote the novices, Rinion. Perhaps now the Silvan foresters will be satisfied with the extra defences we have sent them."

"They will never be satisfied, but well they should be," said Tirion as he skewered a piece of roasted meat.

"Incidently," he added, his voice muffled by the food in his mouth. "Tirion speaks of a novice with the best aim he has yet seen. He shows much promise."

Handir froze for a moment, before schooling his features and looking at his brother for the first time. "A Sinda?" he asked lightly, too lightly, and Aradan recognised that recurrent trait in his young apprentice's voice.

"A half-breed it seems, but they call him The Silvan. I will make a point of watching him when they return."

Handir simply nodded, but it was too late. Aradan had seen his surprise and was intrigued. He would sate his curiosity later, when he had Handir alone. For now, he could not be sidetracked, and so it was that after the meal, Aradan invited the young prince to his study. Handir had simply nodded, thinking no more of it other than Aradan's ongoing training, but when they arrived and the chief councillor offered him a glass of wine, he knew this conversation was not one of tutor and apprentice. His hopes raised, he took the glass and sat before a long window that looked out over the beauty of the hidden, Evergreen Wood, trying with all his might to look calm and collected.

"I have been thinking, Handir. Thinking and debating and I believe your self-appointed quest to be a good one. Tell me why you are doing this now, for you have my promise of discretion - I will say nothing to your father."

Handir was shocked at the change and suddenly found himself debating the wisdom in confiding in Aradan. It was too late though, too late to change tactic, for not in vain was Aradan Chief Advisor to the king.

"Why the sudden change, Aradan? Yesterday you were adamant about not giving your oath. What has changed in but one day?"

Aradan held Handir's eyes and the prince found himself suddenly drawn into the grey wisdom. When first he locked gazes with his mentor, there was that familiar blank expression that any good advisor learned to wear, but as he observed, fell deeper, he saw sadness, grief. He was telling the truth, this - change of mind - was genuine.

"This has gone on for too long, Handir. The suffering he has endured has changed your father so that he is unrecognisable, but a shell of his former self. All that is left is his strength, his will to continue leading his people - the king remains but the elf, the elf is withering inside."

Handir had never thought of it like that. His father had always been cool, sparing in his affection, strict in his attention to detail, although he remembered Rinion telling him many years ago that he remembered his father had not always been thus.

Drinking from his glass, he steadied himself before turning his eyes back from the forest to the councillor. His nerves must have betrayed him though, because Aradan frowned deeply, apparently reading his emotions as if Handir himself had written them down.

"I have much to learn from you in masking myself, Aradan, but this - this is - it is too close to home, too transcendental…"

"We are not in the council chambers now, Handir. We speak as friends, I will not judge you for that."

"Lainion came to me recently. As you know he has been participating in the novice project…"

"Go on," said Aradan encouragingly.

"Well, he - found something - _someone_ …" he said, glancing uncertainly at his tutor.

Aradan's frown deepened and Handir steeled himself, pressing on.

"Aradan it seems - it seems Ada has another son… with a woman that was not my mother…"

Aradan moved backwards, as if avoiding a blow, his eyes wide as they searched those of his young charge, yet no words left his slack mouth.

"He is younger than I, but old enough to be a recruit, and good enough to be chosen as one of the early promotion novices. He is currently serving his apprenticeship with Lainion and Tirion in the western patrol."

There, he had said it - it was over and a wave of utter relief washed over him, his tense muscles relaxing for the first time in days.

And yet the silence continued and Handir now observed his tutor closely. His eyes had dropped to the side, shock still rendering him silent.

"You may ask," pressed Handir, "how Lainion would know such a thing, indeed I did. I attended the vow ceremony and I saw him, Aradan, I saw him from afar - there can be no mistake."

"How can you be so sure?" whispered Aradan.

"Because his face is his credential - he is the very image of my grandfather, Aradan - he has the face of Oropher!"

"Lassiel, what have you done…" he whispered again, as if he spoke to the wind.

Handir started at the comment, and a suspicion began to form in his mind and as it did, his head cocked to one side, words rolling off his tongue without his permission.

"You knew… "

"That there was a child? Yes. But Handir - he is supposed to be across the _sea_ \- with his mother in _Valinor_!"

"Valar," whispered Handir now, shocked at the turn the conversation was taking.

Aradan sprang to his feet in a flurry of robes, raking his hand over his hair and reaching for the wine bottle. Sitting once more as if defeated, he topped their glasses and took a deep breath, glancing up at the prince in concern.

"Make yourself comfortable Handir, for there is a long, long tale to be told, one it is time for you to hear…"


	12. Lassiel

Chapter twelve: Lassiel

"Move! Legolas, Faunion, up! Dorainen, Angion, Lainion, with me."

The two elves scampered up the tree whilst their companions drew their swords and waited. It was not a long wait, and soon enough, the first cave orcs Legolas had ever seen, came crashing forwards, their massive black scimitars drawn as they crashed down upon the elves with a mighty howl.

Faunion had already fired an arrow, its twang alerting Legolas to the fact that he had sat there paralysed for too long. Drawing he shot once, twice, three times, each one killing one of the mighty beasts with an arrow through the eye.

They were beneath the tree now and Legolas knew he could not make that shot, and so he began to target other, larger areas of the beasts that bore down on the elves with a strength he could never have imagined.

His arrows were now hitting shoulders and thighs, occasionally the neck, but all of them incapacitated, enough to allow his companions the upper hand. However, the beasts kept coming, their number greater than they had originally estimated and the moment Legolas had awaited with trepidation finally came.

"Legolas! Faunion!"

This was it, and with a glance at his fellow archer, they both nodded, shouldered their bows and jumped to the forest floor, their swords already drawn.

Legolas first faced a one-eyed orc with a hideous slit down the centre of its head. It smiled, showing its yellow fangs and black tongue. Legolas screwed his face up in disgust for its breath smelt of all things putrid, and as its slithery tongue came out to lick it's cracked lips, it was all Legolas could do to stop the rising bile at the back of his throat.

With a dodge to the right, he brought his sword round and found the liver, lunging into it as he had been taught. The orc squealed like a pig, before pitching forward, dead.

Swivelling on his heels he faced his next opponent, an orc that was so tall it looked down on him with a vicious smile, its gloved hand shooting out to grab at his throat. Not fast enough though, for Legolas had drawn a long dagger in his left hand and sliced at the black limb, severing it, following it with his eyes as it flew to one side, and then almost panicked when the orc made no noise, as if the loss of its hand meant nothing at all - and it did not. He needed to distance himself from it and the only way was to flip backwards. When he landed, he took advantage of the surprised beast and sliced through its forearm, the limb falling to the ground with a thud.

Legolas whipped his head back to the orc and still, it bore down on him and the novice's eyes bulged in disbelief.

Bringing his sword up to protect himself from the black scimitar, his arms shuddered painfully under the sheer power behind the blow - he had to gain more distance. Swivelling on his heels, he side twisted, and then turned once more, his sword gaining impetus until he cut across the beast's neck, watching in morbid fascination as the sharp edge opened skin and muscle, and then grated over the bone at the back. Its hideous head tipped backwards and then toppled to the floor, closely followed by the frozen body, crashing to the ground in a cloud of dirt.

A cheer went up and Legolas startled, only to find his kill had been the last, and the seasoned warriors had been watching him.

He felt his face flush as he went to clean the muck from his sword, aware that his companions moved towards him and when he turned to face them, unsure of what they would say, Angion held up his right hand, the head of the dead orc firmly secured in his fist by its ropy hair.

Legolas stared at it for a moment in abject horror, the thick, dark blood dripping from it, its face forever frozen in twisted agony. It all came back to him, the squishing of flesh and blood, the grating sound of steel over bone. It was too much and he dropped to his hands and knees and emptied his stomach pitifully.

The warriors roared in laughter, slapping their thighs and each other's shoulders, not stopping even when Lainion made his way through with a bladder of water, a rye smile on his face.

"Here," he said in exasperation, slapping the novice on his back. "Drink!" he said, before adding, "You did well, Silvan - you did very well." With that, the lieutenant turned towards the men and smiled mischievously. Both Lainion and Angion had earned a few coins…

….

"So this - Lassiel - he met her before he met our mother?"

"Oh yes, many years before. It was a public affair, looked upon with indifference for the most part, for she was not of noble blood and that was of no concern to anyone, so long as they did not marry. Our society, back then when your father was still a prince, was much more rigid than it is today. Their relationship was seen as an informal dalliance the prince afforded himself and Oropher made sure that was the way it remained, in spite of the truth."

"That they loved each other, but could not marry…" anticipated Handir.

"Yes - yet even if Oropher had bent the rules, something he was often wont to do he could not. His own hands were tied for the Sindarin nobles would never have condoned it. Had there been a clear Silvan leader at the time, had their been political equality it may even have been a convenient marriage, to bring together our multi-cultural society and I even tried that tack with Oropher. To no avail though, for the Silvans had no say in matters of state, and the puritans would have their way or veto the heir to the throne. This, Oropher would not accept and so he acceded to disallowing their marriage."

"Even then, the rift had begun then?" asked Handir sadly.

"Oh yes, even then. Now, Thranduil was devastated at the news, and Lassiel - Lassiel was heart-broken. They had both known it was a lost cause from the start, but they had clung to hope as lovers often do. The certainty of their doom was a cruel blow that Lassiel could not deal with…"

"What do you mean?" asked Handir in mounting trepidation.

"She - began to fade, Handir. The knowledge that she could never belong to the only elf she had, would, ever love was tearing at her immortal soul. She became delicate, her health often failing and Thranduil was beside himself with worry. You see, although it had been forbidden for him to marry, he had vowed to take care of Lassiel for all the days of his life, even if his father forced him to marry another, which we all knew he would, indeed within the week, your mother had been presented as the queen to be. "

"And they were married?"

"Yes, they were married, but Thranduil could not hide the truth from your mother."

"And she sailed?"

"What? NO! No. She was not naive, Handir. She knew their marriage was one of convenience, she knew Thranduil held no love for her… I _am_ sorry," added Aradan as he saw the hurt on his young apprentice's face.

"The question is that they continued to see each other, secretly, for many, many years. You were born and Thranduil came to respect your mother very much, but you see," he said, leaning forward now as his hand went to his chin. "She did not only respect him, but came to love him. She loved him so much she bore his children and became the perfect queen. She bore his infidelity with quiet dignity; all she asked was that he be discreet and not humiliate her."

Aradan took a steadying breath, staring at Handir to judge his mood before moving to the final part of the tale.

"Elbereth," whispered Handir as he rubbed at his face. "They were found out then?"

"No. Thranduil was nothing if not cautious, for by then his father was long gone and he was king. Besides, his respect for his wife would not allow him to compromise her in that way. No, it was Lassiel. She was slipping, slipping into grief so far it frightened her. With each day they saw each other, deep in the forest, she was paler, weaker, frailer of health and spirit, she was dwindling and they both knew it.

Thranduil, with a heavy heart, bid her sail. He pleaded day in day out for her to save herself but she could not leave him, even if she was doomed to meet with him on these, secret, somewhat sordid circumstances. What to do? Asked Thranduil - for months he debated, indeed I was there, every bit a part of his suffering.

"The child…"

"Yes - the child. That was to be the solution. They would create a child so that a part of Thranduil would always be with her, get her safely to Aman, a safe passage if you will, her last life line. And so, soon enough, the news came that she was with child. She would begin her journey to the undying lands and give birth to the child there…"

"They conceived a child for the wrong reasons…" muttered Handir.

"No, Handir - you underestimate the terrible loss of love - to love that one, soul mate and confront the finality of their death is a terrible thing, and conceiving a child to avoid it seems - an acceptable way of avoiding tragedy. You must look at this in perspective."

"And you thought that is what happened? That she would be waiting for him on the white shores with her child, their child?"

"Yes, that is what I thought, Handir. I believed them both across the sea, as does Thranduil. That his son is here, tells me that she never crossed and so she is either alive, and no longer fading, or she succumbed before she could sail…"

Handir sat, allowing Aradan's last words to sink in. And then a question popped into his mind.

"Aradan - how did mother find out? I mean that is what must have happened, she found out a child had been created."

"Yes, she found out, although we never knew how that came to be. All we could conclude at the time was that someone must have told her…"

"But who would benefit from such a thing? The purists would simply let it be, for a Sindarin king and queen sat on the throne, it would not be in their interest, surely?"

"Apparently not, but who is to say there were not - personal - interests? That someone from that faction wished to take the throne for themselves?"

Handir started, before he blurted, "Bandorion? nay he would not be so bold!" exclaimed Handir.

"Bandorion would not force the issue, no, but if he saw an opportunity to allow things to simply - spiral - he may well have taken it. Unfortunately, we have no way of discerning the truth Handir, only that someone else knew, and saw fit to tell the queen."

"So you know nothing of this boy, then," asked Handir rhetorically.

"Nothing. What …. what is he like, Handir?" asked Aradan carefully.

"He is … difficult to describe, Aradan, but I will tell you this much. He is quite simply - beautiful. I do not know what his mother looked like, but she must have been stunning. His eyes…"

"Are the color of summer moss?" said Aradan gently.

Handir stared at Aradan, before nodding. "Yes, just that, Aradan.

Minutes passed in silence, before Aradan spoke once more.

"I am glad you told me, Handir. And I can see why Lainion came to you with this. The situation is potentially volatile at the least," said the councillor, back to business now.

"I know, Aradan. Lainion was aware of all this, I assume?"

"Oh yes. He was your guardian, of course. He ran many errands for Thranduil. He knew Lassiel well."

"What worries me the most, Aradan, is that this boy is, in Lainion's words, the best novice warrior he has ever seen. That and his extraordinary looks will draw attention to him. All it will take is a veteran to see his face and declare him Oropher reborn. So far, he has lived in his village, deep in the heart of the Greenwood but now, in the king's militia… it is surely only a question of time before someone asks the wrong questions…"

"Yes, and there is no telling how the king will react, first to the question of whether Lassiel lives or not, and secondly, what he will do with the boy. And then there is Rinion…"

"Rinion would see him as a threat. Another brother, a bastard, Silvan brother. I cannot see him accepting that at all. Maeneth, however, would probably be overjoyed!" he snorted, his lovely sister's face floating in his mind's eye, wondering how much longer she would stay in Lorien.

"There is one more thing," said Handir, deep in thought. "The boy has a nick name, they call him The Silvan, the one Rinion mentioned at lunch. My brother has taken it upon himself to seek the boy out when they ride in - we cannot allow it, Aradan."

"Nay. You must write to Lainion and warn him. What did Lainion suggest, by the way?"

"He wanted me to keep him informed of any talk, of any suspicions that may arise. He knows he will have to tell the boy soon enough but he needs to know that he will not be jeopardising his charge, or indeed the king, by doing so. I sense in him a desire to protect the boy, Aradan. Almost as if he were a younger brother."

"It does not surprise me, Handir. He became good friends with Lassiel."

"Aye, well. What now? This is so, convoluted, Aradan, the ramifications are… endless."

"Yes, and we must not take rash decisions. We must sit for a while and digest what we have learned, observe those around us and above all, we must listen - listen to every bit of news that comes from the field. The slightest indication that rumour is starting, is when the king must be told, before he hears it from someone else and thus, the boy must also be told, and when that happens, I suggest he not be here, that he be assigned somewhere abroad, so that he not be caught in the storm that will surely be unleashed."

"That makes sense, yes. You know," said Handir, his face deep in thought as he spoke. "I could always ask my father once more about the possibility of traveling to Imladris as part of my apprenticeship - with Lord Erestor."

Aradan smiled, nodding slowly as he did so. "That would be interesting, yes. You would need a patrol to accompany you…"

"Yes… it is perfect. I prepare the king and then precipitate my journey when the need to act becomes paramount."

"Alright," said Aradan as he stood. "We wait and we listen, you meanwhile, will speak to the king and remind him of your desire to travel, I will put in a word for you. When the time comes, your journey must be made - only then will I tell the king and you, you will tell the boy he has a family…"


	13. Awakening

Author's note: Just a quick note to a guest reviewer that I would like to comment on. The warriors are testing Legolas, his ability to be humble and serve under others. Legolas knows this and, as such, takes it as a test, an exasperating one but a test nonetheless. As for Lainion and Tirion, it is in their interest to sit and watch. They know the worth of their warriors and are more than aware that the men will always do this with new recruits. It is certainly uncomfortable for the poor Silvan, but it will soon be over :))

Guest review: Ninde - muchas gracias, amiga. Me alegro mucho de que te gustara y espero poder contar con tus comentarios para los próximos capítulos.

Chapter thirteen: awakening

The patrol sat quietly together, sharing a hot tea. They could not make much noise for the enemy was on the move and they had been on pre-alert for the entire morning.

But talk they did, discussing this and that albeit quietly, none of the boyish exuberance of the day before. Legolas too, now an integral part of their unit, listened and asked questions - _incessantly._ The warriors did not mind though, for they had rarely worked with a novice that took so much interest in his training, that asked such poignant questions and seemed to respect them as much as he obviously did.

One such question was on the wisdom or otherwise of shedding ones boots at bedtime. There were chuckles and some knee-slapping as Faunion attempted to explain why he, as a Silvan warrior, would personally never do such a thing.

One moment, Legolas' attentive face was sucking in every word he said, but the next, his eyes turned to the side and he leaned back, as if surprised, or listening, perhaps.

"Boy!" joked Faunion - "I am imparting great wisdom here, the least you can do is pay attention," he said in mock irritation, but it had been enough to draw everyone's attention to the now, completely blank stare of their absent novice.

"Hwindo …"

" _Legolas!_ " hissed Lainion, waving a hand before the unseeing eyes.

"What is _wrong_ with him?" asked Angion, perplexed.

"I do not know," answered Lainion with a frown, sharing a worried glance with Tirion.

"Legolas…?" tried the Captain softly, and then nearly started when the boy finally spoke.

"Something is wrong…"

"What, what is wrong?" prompted Lainion.

Tirion, meanwhile, let out the caw of a blackbird to request a status report from the warrior on duty. After a prolonged silence, the guard's answering call resounded in the otherwise deathly silence - _all was well_ , he said.

Tirion turned back to Legolas, who seemed to be coming back to himself.

"Something is wrong," he mumbled, shaking his head from side to side.

"Angion reports nothing, Legolas," said Lainion.

Legolas slowly held his hand up before his own face, horrified now to see it visibly shaking before he repeated again, "something is wrong…"

Faunion could stand it no longer and stood, his hand upon the pommel of his sword, for his fine hairs were standing to attention and his skin crawled - there had been something in the boy's voice, in his conviction he simply could not ignore.

Tirion called back to Angion and they all waited in mounting trepidation once more for his answering call. This time, the answer took longer than it should have, but when it did reach them, it was now an alert warning. That meant one of two things; that there was a threat still far enough away to give them time to prepare, or - the warrior was unsure.

"Break camp. We move now, prepare your weapons," said Tirion urgently, turning once more to a slowly rising Legolas, still, apparently not completely back to his usual self.

The boy stood before the grey, waning light of a darkening forest, and of a sudden his long hair and strange green eyes seemed brighter than they normally did. He was a vision to behold in that moment, and if Tirion had looked behind him he would have realised he was not alone in his impression. He startled then, as Legolas spoke once more, his voice unsteady.

"What is wrong with me?" he whispered as his eyes suddenly focussed once more and a cold shiver ran down the length of the captain's spine.

"Nothing," he lied. "Come, we break camp - we are leaving," he said curtly, waiting for the boy to move before jogging to the fore and leading them out. There would be time enough to broach the subject - later. For now, Tirion trusted his instincts. They would move to higher, safer ground before resting for the night.

The patrol began their cautious trek through the wood, their senses now on full alert. Whatever it was that had happened to their novice, it had frightened them all, left them with the uncertainty of whether the boy was right, that there _was_ danger; after all, Angion had not been sure and it had been that fact alone, that had finally set them to moving once more.

Their eyes moved from one tree to the other, up and then down as the light became dimmer and dimmer and the forest seemed to close in around them. They were seasoned warriors but there was something about this night that unnerved them all, especially Legolas, who was still silent and withdrawn, occasionally checking his own hand which still shook, in spite of the fact that he had managed to calm himself.

Lainion cast worried glances at him, and Tirion turned back to check his patrol more than he usually would.

The hoot of an owl stopped them all dead in their tracks - Angion signalled a proximity warning.

"Positions," hissed Tirion, watching as each warrior took up his designated place, Legolas climbing the nearest tree, slower than he usually did. He would have to keep an eye on the boy for he did not seem to be himself as yet. Distraction and his first spider battle could be a recipe for disaster, he knew. Lainion would be thinking the same, no doubt.

All too soon, the clicking sound of spiders invaded the unnatural silence and the warriors were thrust into a silent, frantic conversation of hand signals and bird calls, conveying orders from the ground to the trees and vice versa.

The cry of an eagle preceded Angion's shadow as he finally joined the patrol. "Spiders - at least 10 and they are not small.."

Legolas' eyes bulged, oblivious to the calculating stares he was receiving from the rest of the patrol. He had been right, something indeed had not been right, but how had he known? What strange malady had taken him that it set his head to thumping, his vision swimming and his hand shaking? Anxiety took hold of him for a moment and his breathing became erratic. 'Stop,' he scolded himself; 'Stop lest you make a fool of yourself again,' he repeated silently. Closing his eyes, he remembered his own invented exercises to centre himself before training. Applying it now on the threshold of battle would be a challenge at the least, but try he did, and soon, as he opened his eyes once more and evened his breathing, he knew he had been at least partially successful, for there was suddenly nothing but the spiders, moving through the bows, their clicking and clanking, their hissy whispers.

His hand no longer shook and his heart no longer thumped so fast. The pressure at the back of his neck no longer hurt him and he was strong. His body poised to perform to the best of its abilities, he calmly watched as the first spider showed itself and he shot, its shriek alerting the other archers to its presence. With another arrow it fell to the ground in a leathery, fury heap of thrashing legs, until it ceased its struggles and died, and although it was the first time that Legolas had confronted a yellow-belly spider, there was no awe, no shocked horror, only the enemy and his own bow.

Elven screams and the shrieks of the spiders filled the woods and where once there had been ominous silence, now the cacophony of battle reverberated in Legolas' ears. Strangely though, his emotions were not affected. He was aware only of his muscles as they flexed and relaxed, pulled and rolled, and when he was called to the ground his eyes sought only the enemy, his flashing blades carefully calculated with eyes that calibrated them in the foreground, judging distances in the background.

The sounds of battle soon dimmed and the whoosh of his blades became louder, the beat of his heart ever present as it ticked steadily, even when he pierced the repugnant bellies of his foes and severed their armoured legs. His own breathing was strong and even, as his eyes now registered not only his foes before him, but his companions around him.

An effortless change from sword to bow and he had drawn and killed a spider that was bearing down on Faunion, only to swivel sideways and shoot once more at another that threatened to skewer Angion with its toxic stinger.

His body calmly informed him that he should duck backwards and draw his sword - effortlessly, it was back in his hand and he whirled it around before stabbing forwards, into the eye of the great, yellow-bellied spider he now fought.

Silence now, save for his own body - his heart and his breath but he did not feel his body - was only aware that it moved, calm and coordinated, and his eyes saw everything - strange though, he mused, that there was a green and purple tinge to everything - as if he was looking through painted glass…

Everything seemed to move so slowly, everything except his blades, in both hands, that whirled and swirled and hummed around him in a strange song that hypnotised.

It was suddenly that his body came back to him, heavy once more, and he realised he had stopped moving. He blinked once, twice, the strange colours disappearing and the frantic face of Lainion and the western patrol standing before him, and on their faces was what Legolas could only later describe as - horror…

…

The next day, Legolas woke early. Nodding at the duty guard, he moved to the side of their camp and sat cross-legged. He needed to think, to straighten out the turmoil in his mind because after the events of the previous evening, Legolas was, quite simply - scared. Yet more than even this, he sensed the warriors averted gazes, their quiet avoidance.

Slowing his breathing and closing his eyes, he began to analyse what he thought had happened.

A pressure at the back of his neck at first had him thinking he had a headache but the pain was not a familiar one. And then, quite suddenly, an overwhelming wave of pure anxiety had slammed into him, almost stealing his breath with the force of it. He remembered trying to pinpoint the source of it but he could not. It had been too sudden, too strong. None of his own, childish worries could ever warrant what he had felt and he knew it - it had come from without, not from within.

He remembered almost panicking, and then words rolling from his errant mouth.

Something is wrong…

He had heard the words as if someone else had spoken them and he shivered, the anxiety still tearing through him mercilessly. He had wanted to cry…

Something is wrong…

He had repeated it, and was aware that he was frightening his companions, but he had lost control and it _terrified_ him.

He heard their bird calls, faintly in the background, first signalling 'all clear', and then came an alert - but Legolas had already known.

Something is wrong…

He had felt light, as if he floated upon a cloud, and yet strangely heavy, his chest weighing down his otherwise floating body - it was absurd and he opened his eyes in exasperation, hearing now as the camp came to life.

He should carry out his duties but his mind was still a swirling, heaving mess of disjointed memories and impressions. There was no more time though, and so he slowly rose and walked back to his companions.

Water was boiling over a fire and wood had already been gathered. He shot an apologetic look at Faunion, who simply nodded solemnly but could not quite meet his gaze. He had acted strangely last night, both before and after the battle, of that there could be no doubt, but had he made such a fool of himself? Had he fought badly, perhaps? Stood there frozen while the others cut down their foes?

He would not think of it just yet for there was a priority in his mind now. 'What was _wrong_ with him?'

A mug of tea was placed in his hand and he looked down stupidly at it, before looking up into the frank stare of Lainion, who gestured to him that he should drink it.

He took it numbly to his lips and drank slowly, his mind turning inwards again, still aware enough to know he was being watched.

"I am sorry - brothers…" he said sadly, his eyes firmly fixed upon his mug in shame.

Silence followed his words, before Angion spoke.

"What? You are _sorry?_ "

"Angion," said Tirion, holding his hand up for silence, and then jerking his head to the side.

As one, the warriors rose and left the circle of fire, leaving Tirion, Lainion and Legolas alone.

"I have shamed myself, Captain. In the one thing I wanted most in this world and I have failed…" he whispered, still unable to lift his head from his hands, the urge to cry once more angering him for the weakness it implied.

"Legolas. Have you no recollection of what happened last night?" asked Tirion. "Can you not remember the battle?"

"I remember - I remember feelings and sensations. I remember hearing my own heart beat, I remember fighting but not the details. I remember my failing eyesight and hearing, I remember terrible weight and dizzying lightness…" he trailed off, aware that his tone had been steadily rising. He scowled deeply, his eyes finally rising to meet Tirion's worried eyes.

"It does not make sense," he said slowly, his eyes pleading with the captain for an explanation.

"No," began the captain carefully. "From that perspective it does not. But listen to me, Legolas, and take good note as you always do."

Legolas nodded dumbly, his face the very picture of abject misery.

"From _our_ perspective," he emphasized, "from where _we_ stood, you have not shamed yourself, child.."

Tirion watched as Legolas stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"Legolas. What we saw last night, was a warrior the likes of which most of us have never seen - most, except me…"

Legolas' expression changed from confusion to shocked puzzlement, and his head cocked to one side.

"Legolas. There is little I or anyone else can teach you about the martial arts. You fought as the mighty warriors of old and the Valar confound me for I tell you I know not where you have learned to fight the way you do. You did not shame yourself, Legolas - _Hwindohtar_ \- you saved the day."

Legolas' eyes were round, utter shock leaving him stupefied and unable to formulate a single sentence.

"Now after what I have said, I will tell you this. You seem to have a - _gift_ \- Legolas. I know not the nature of it and I believe you are completely unaware of it - but you _do_ have it. Whatever it is seems to be manifesting itself for the first time for I sense your anxiety, your fear…"

"Yes, yes," he said eagerly, hoping that Tirion would cast some light on it, ease his fraught mind.

"Patience, then, Hwindohtar. let us watch and wait and discover this thing together. Do not be frightened, for I believe that what happened to you yesterday is a good thing.

A desperate, somewhat strangled groan escaped Legolas, for it hadn't felt good at all and he said as much.

"I cannot fathom it. I was not myself and yet I was. It was as if my body - acted of its own accord as if I had no - control - over what I did, saw or heard…"

"Can you be more precise, Legolas. Can you remember any details?" asked Lainion, leaning forward in anticipation.

Legolas took a few moments to think.

"I remember my, my eyesight was strange - there were blue and purple edges to everything. I remember, my muscles, the way they flexed and relaxed, which ones moved my weapons, my eyes. I could hear little more than my own heartbeat, my own breathing, everything else was - muted - even the screams and the shrieks…"

Lainion and Tirion shared a puzzled stare before Tirion continued with his questioning.

"Alright. I think we have a start. At least one thing seems certain, Hwindohtar. You are most intuitive, for you felt the presence of the enemy long before any of us did. This may or may not be connected with what happened to you in battle. If it happens again, you must try to control it, and for that you can count on us but do not hide it."

"I won't. Thank you," he said after a moment. "I am still confused but - you have helped me to calm myself at least."

"Good," said Tirion with a reassuring smile.

"Just - just one more thing, Captain."

"Yes, what is it?" asked Tirion as he rose to leave.

"Why are you calling me Hwindohtar?"

The captain smiled before glancing at his lieutenant and then back to the young boy standing expectantly before him, looking a little less pale than he had done before.

"Because after what I saw last night, I cannot help but call you thusly for it is true - you are the Whirling Warrior," he said, a cheeky grin on his usually stern features.

Legolas' eyebrows rose to his hairline and he turned to face Lainion in silent question.

But the Avari simply smiled, nodded, and went about his business, leaving behind a still puzzled, yet strangely relieved novice warrior.

TSTSTSTSTTSTSTSTSTSTTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Many miles away to the west, in the deeps of the old forest, an old man's eyes snapped open, round and unfocussed, intense blue that seemed to transcend the world around him, until the pupils visibly focussed and he blinked - and then smiled.

'Welcome, young lord…'


	14. The Path Ahead

Chapter fourteen: The Path Ahead

 _Lainion_

 _I have much news to share with you, promising news for the most part, but all of which you must be kept abreast with._

 _After much thought upon the matter, I have confided in Aradan and he is now fully aware of the situation. He, in turn, has told me the story of Lassiel, a story I know you were aware of. I now, also understand the question that has to be asked, for if The Silvan is here, upon Arda - where is his mother?_

 _Aradan and I are now working closely together. He wishes only that Thranduil may redeem himself at least with me, that somehow my father can become the elf he apparently used to be, the one I cannot remember having met. As for myself what do I seek? Perhaps to understand - my father, my mother, how I should feel about having a half-brother - who can say for I certainly cannot._

 _The only worrying development so far is a comment that Rinion made at table not a week past. Word has come to him of the exceptional military skills of The Silvan, and has vowed to keep an eye out for him when he returns to the city. This cannot happen, of course, for it is as you say; his resemblance to my Lord Grandfather is uncanny. To this end I have devised a plan, one I believe may be suitable to all. I have previously told my father of my interest in tutoring in Imladris under Lord Erestor. I plan to remind him of it, and then execute my journey before you return. We would somehow ensure that the Silvan is part of the entourage. This is when I must speak to the boy, and Aradan will do likewise with the king._

 _It will be tricky, but Rinion is likely to precipitate things and I will not have either my father nor the Silvan lad finding out the hard way._

 _How goes the patrol? Send news, and your thoughts on our plans…_

Lainion folded the parchment and then burned it over the fire. Their plan was bold but he was strangely glad that Aradan was in with them. He had worked closely with the advisor for many years, while guarding the king's second son. He was a good man, a friend to the king and although Sindarin, was not sympathetic to Bandorion's notions of Sindar domination.

He would confer with Tirion and write his reply as soon as he was able, yet what to say? That Handir had a half-brother with some strange power? That he fought like a devil possessed? Nay, he would say nothing for it was not, as yet, relevant. He scoffed to himself then, for how could something so transcendental be 'irrelevant.' The idea was absurd, but it was too much to reveal as yet - the players were unaware of their roles and until that changed, it would do no good to complicate matters beyond what they already were.

Raking his eyes over the patrol, Lainion lingered for a while on an apparently serene novice who now spoke timidly with the troop. He knew the warriors were still wary of the boy - unable to explain in any coherent way what they had seen. Some turned to talk of spirits and possession and although they did not really believe that, the seed of doubt had been planted. He knew the time had come to veer towards the south. It was time to show Legolas, or Hwindohtar as they were now calling him, that not all battles were fought with blades…

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

"Was there something else, Aradan? asked the king, his voice listless, tired.

"Yes my Lord. I wish to discuss the possibility of Prince Handir tutoring with Lord Erestor of Imladris for six months. I know he has already put the idea to you some time ago, but I wish to add my voice to the project. He will do well, I am sure."

"Is it necessary? He already seems to be excelling under your own guidance," said the king as he moved to stand before the full-length window of his study.

"He is, indeed. But Imladris will pose new challenges for him. It will prepare him well for moments of crisis, and there is no one better than Lord Erestor of Imladris.

The king snorted. "Indeed I have been on the receiving end of his negotiating skills - he is a clever shrew and most learned, even if he is a Noldo."

"Add to that," continued Aradan, "the political benefits of renewing talks with the Noldor, I think there are many good reasons to send Handir. He will represent us well."

"It would be a good test for him," said the king, his voice still monotonous and apparently devoid of any emotion.

"Aye, smiled Aradan. "I would suggest waiting for a few more months, perhaps until early Spring. If you accede to the idea, I must make haste and write to their Lord so that suitable preparations can be made."

There was a long silence as the king considered the possibility of Handir leaving for an extended stay. Of the two brothers, he was the only one that was, at least, courteous with him. And yet Thranduil had lost all hope of ever redeeming himself in his sons' eyes; too much time had passed without the slightest hint of affection. But then, he scoffed, why would they? Had he given them any cause to do so? Had he so much as touched them in all this time? Had a kind word or an encouraging nod? Nay - he had done nothing, he realised bitterly. What was the point? They would never forgive him his trespass - the terrible sin of loving one he had never been allowed to have. It was a useless idea and he knew it. Only hope would make that possible, and Thranduil had none.

With a heavy heart, he simply nodded at his councillor and friend. Aye, he would allow the boy to travel. He may be incapable of mending the rift with his children, but he could make the boy happy, in this one thing at least.

"With one condition. I want a patrol of twenty with him; Handir is no warrior."

"I will see to it of course. A messenger will leave for the valley tomorrow. Do you wish to send any further correspondence, my Lord?"

"I will send a message for Elrond. If Handir is to stay in his house, I would have his assurances on the matter."

"A wise move, my Lord. "

"Thank you Aradan," he said, the hint of tiredness back once more and Aradan cursed the Valar for his misery, for no one had deserved it less than this Sindarin king who had sacrificed so much for the Greenwood. Indeed every breath he took was an act of bravery, of service, for it it were not for The Greenwood - The Evergreen Wood they protected, this extraordinary elf, would have faded to nothing centuries ago.

And so, in spite of his success in assuring Handir's trip, he left with a familiar weight on his chest, and not a small measure of contained frustration. This king was surrounded by family, family that seemingly cared not for him, that showed no emotion, had not the slightest consideration for his well-being. Others, he mused, had no family and had suffered for it all their lives.

'Do not fail me, Handir,' he begged. 'Bring the light back to this family, to our king.'

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

 _Handir_

 _So far, all goes well. There have been some issues that will need addressing, but nothing regarding the boy's identity. For you, however, there may soon be. I calculate another few months in the field, Handir. After that we will return home and the boy will become a warrior._

 _Regarding Rinion, it is, indeed, a problem. Perhaps we could orchestrate things so that the boy will not be deprived of the moment he has been waiting for all his life. If we could celebrate a vow ceremony while your brother is abroad, I would be most appreciative of the effort Handir. I know this is something that should not concern you. I ask only as a personal favour to me….he deserves it, I would not have him sacrifice that which he has worked so hard to achieve._

Handir looked up to the heavens for a moment, before reading Lainion's farewells, and tossing the parchment into the hearth of his rooms.

Indeed why should he care at all about the feelings of some Silvan stranger? One that had precipitated his mother's departure, one that had failed even to keep his own mother with him. One that threatened to tear his family apart, at least what was left of it which, admittedly, was not much.

'Because he is unaware of it all - he does not know…'

Even so, Handir had no feelings for him at all. The boy was a necessary player in this game but he would not be part of the future, he was not why Handir was doing this now. He was doing it for the good of the kingdom, for his father and his siblings - for himself.

And yet Lainion seemed to have taken a shine to him and Handir would not begrudge him that. He would see what he could do - for Lainion, he assured himself.

Now, he and Aradan were charged with two questions. The first was to coordinate Legolas' arrival with his own impending departure to Imladris - if his father even acceded to such a thing, and secondly, they would need to schedule the vow ceremony so that it coincided with Rinion in the field. If the boy's identity did raise suspicion, well, their departure would be near imminent, and both his father and the Silvan would be told the truth soon after.

What had he gotten himself into? Nay what had Lainion gotten him into? He had his own studies to concentrate on, this distraction was unwelcome. But then he regretted the thought as soon as he had formulated it. The consequences of improved relations with his father would be nothing but positive.

A memory came to him quite suddenly, accompanied as so often happens, by a smell - of nut pastries hot from the oven. He saw his father's smiling face and heard his mother's joyous laughter. He remembered a rough table top that seemed to run the entire length of the room - the kitchen he realised. He sat on someone's knees and heard the voice of his elder brother as he bounced Handir up and down, his own laughter joining that of their mother's.

Wide-eyed, Handir was shocked at the intensity of the memory, so much so that a tear came to his eye and he swiped at it impatiently. He had been wrong; those memories of happier times when his family was together, when his father was still vibrant and strong - he had not forgotten - he had simply stopped remembering…

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSSTSTSTSTSTSTSTTSTSTSTSTSTST

"I have already told you there is little more we can teach you with your weapons, but where we are headed now, it is the _mind_ that will keep you alive, Legolas.

Legolas walked between Tirion and Lainion at the rear. They had been walking for a week now, and with every step they took, the forest became darker, less green, and a strange blight seemed to affect some of the trees. Sunlight still managed to filter through the high boughs but it was strained, and the light on the forest floor was so dark it was as if they walked in perpetual twilight, their uniforms no longer green and brown but black and grey.

"Evil is not just the twisted face of an orc, or the dark machinations of some obscure maia - it is a poison that penetrates the body and arrests your mind, your soul. Your task as a warrior in the south, will be to control your body and block the poison, protect yourself against it so that you may protect others.

Tirion glanced at their young charge from the corner of his eye. He listened intently as he always did, the faint bruise of a nasty blow he had taken some days ago when he had slipped on a patch of spider resin and fallen hard. The boy had been indignant, claiming he had never fallen from a tree, and Lainion had had to explain to him that here, not all trees were willing to host elves in their boughs. Legolas had been horrified and since then, had bombarded them with incessant questions as to why that would be.

"How does a warrior do that?" asked Legolas. "How does he control it, guard himself from it?"

"Not all of them can. I have known many excellent warriors who cannot serve in the south. After but months they return to the city and the healing wards, their minds in turmoil and their souls darkened. It takes them months to regain their spirit and serve once more. Our commanders do not recruit any warrior for these areas, they recruit only those who are stronger of mind and will."

"Can one train to endure it? I mean, if you succumb at first, can you learn to block it?"

"Yes. In fact, that is the way of it. Everyone suffers at first, until you learn to pinpoint its effects - that is when you can block it. Don't go in there thinking you can guard yourself from the start Legolas. That will not happen."

"So what will I feel? How will it affect me?" he asked, fidgeting now with his weapons belt.

"Headache, increased heart rate, a burning sensation in the eyes, a weight upon the chest - these are the universal symptoms. Others report nausea, shortness of breath, panic attacks…"

Tirion watched him again, his wide eyes staring straight ahead, his adam's apple bobbing visibly. The poor boy was nervous - they all were at this point in their training, but somehow Tirion had almost thought Legolas would be impervious to it - he was not, and that was a comforting thought somehow.

He had spoken to Lainion about the strange events of their skirmish with orcs and they had both agreed to keep a close eye on the boy. They needed more information on the nature of his - gift - if that was, indeed what it was. Once they were better informed, they could find a way to help him with it.

"Legolas," called Lainion from his other side. "Your hair has escaped again. See to it that you secure it from your face before our next confrontation."

A lovely blush blossomed on his bruised face and then he turned to the Avari. "I confess I do not know what to do…"

Lainion's eyebrows rose, but then Tirion saw an idea dawn on his face.

"I have an idea - a little - exotic, but it could work. We Avari have hair of a different texture to that of the Silvan and Sindar. Our braids are thicker and more secure for denser hair such as yours. I could show you when we make camp later."

Legolas smiled. "I will be a sight! A Sinda-Silvan with an Avarin hairstyle!"

"Popular with your lovers, boy!" jested the lieutenant in a rare show of emotion and Legolas chuckled, as Angion and Faunion snorted behind them, sharing the conversation with their companions behind. By twilight, as they set up their camp, all of them had one eye on the most unlikely spectacle that played out before the fire. Lainion, their mercurial Avarin lieutenant, was braiding Legolas' hair in a way none of them had ever seen.

The boy's hair was extraordinarily long and thick, with tones of light gold and silver that gave it a texture few elves could boast. Thick braids had been worked from front to back, from his hairline and then down his back, sitting atop the straight, unbraided hair beneath, both layers falling almost to the small of his back and when they had finished and he turned, the troop hooted and cheered, cat calls echoing around them. Legolas blushed and stood, bowing theatrically first to Lainion, and then to his audience.

"How do I look?!" he shouted merrily, no hint of his earlier anxiety.

For the next half an hour, the warriors fooled around, swaying their hips and 'ooing' and 'aaring', linking each other's arms and skipping - and Legolas was always in the middle of it, laughing and flicking at their hair in return.

Lainion and Turion watched from their nascent campfire and smiled.

"He is an extraordinary boy, Lainion. I wish the best for him…."

"I know," said Lainion, turning to face his captain and friend. "I told you back at the barracks, Turion. There is something about him that inspires loyalty, 'tis why I am here and you - you left your beloved training fields to teach him. I know you feel it too…"

Turion held his friend's gaze for a moment. Something important was happening, and they two would have a part in it. It was almost as if they had been appointed this task - by who Turion could not say and yet he felt it, in the deepest recesses of his mind he knew neither of them had ever had the slightest choice in the matter. And then, he thought, that even if he had, he would still have chosen this path. The boy had wormed his way beneath his skin, into his heart, had worked a strange magic that had captivated him from the very start.

They raised their mugs and clinked them together, before sipping on the hot tea, enjoying the entertainment for tonight, the forest was at peace, at least for today.


	15. He Is Ours

Author's note: just wanted to thank my guest reviewers for your lovely comments - I always wish I could answer you but alas!

This is a transition chapter, so after today, old on to your horses folks, the South calls - and then Imladris and the truth…

Chapter fifteen: He is Ours

The next morning, the patrol kitted out in their heaviest gear and set out stealthily through the thickening, darkening forest, towards the South and the dreaded Mirkwood. Before they reached it though, they were to stop off at a nearby village where they were to gain information on the enemy's movements and establish whether or not its inhabitants needed help in the way of provisions or manpower. Being so close to the encroaching cloak of darkness, these Silvan foresters held great insight into how the enemy moved.

It would be the first time in weeks that the patrol would come into contact with civilians, and the thought was a good one, for there would be hot food and comfortable beds. There may even be a day of rest in which they could bathe, wash their clothing and care more extensively for their weapons.

Legolas' hair was a success, for he was able to gather up the thick top braids and tie them at his crown with a leather string. It was perfect and Lainion had joked that it pulled at his eyes, making him look Avarin.

Turion confessed to being absurdly confused, for Lainion had never joked. He was severe and curt, enigmatic yet fierce, frightening even, yet when he was around the Silvan he transformed. He decided he liked the contrast.

After two days, the western patrol emerged from the dense trees and into a glade, where some sunlight still managed to filter through the high boughs. They had been smelling the wood smoke for many hours now, and, the predominantly silvan troop had reminisced of their own homes, so similar to the village they now entered.

Legolas lifted his head and relished the timid warmth on his face, smiling before opening his eyes and looking around the settlement.

The silvan foresters looked on as the warriors walked single file towards a large wooden construction Tirion had surely imagined would be their community hall. As a Silvan settlement, there would be a village leader and a spirit herder. There would also be a master forester; these three figures were the leaders of their people and their starting point would be to find them.

Legolas felt a pang of nostalgia, for although much darker and enclosed, this village brought to mind his own forest home. He understood this society, these people. They were the very reason he had chosen to do what he now did and of a sudden he could not wait to take his vows and be counted amongst the king's warriors as an equal rather than a novice.

Children scampered around the warriors as they marched by, brushing their hands over worked leather and wooden cloaks, and when one of the more daring imps reached for a sword scabbard or a quiver, they were batted away with a good natured scowl. The children giggled and squealed until their mothers scolded them and ushered them away with apologetic, and sometimes flirtatious smiles.

And none received more of these inviting smiles than Hwindohtar, who blushed at the attention, much to the glee of his companions, who shoved him and flicked at his hair, their mocking as incessant as it was light-hearted.

Soon, they arrived at the large hall, where two tall elves stood waiting. Turion stepped forward and placed his fist over his heart.

"Well met. I am Captain Turion of the Western Patrol. We have come to ensure your safety and assess your defences."

"Well met, Captain. I am Lorthil, leader of these people, and this is Narsorén, our Spirit Herder. Be you welcome brothers."

The entire patrol bowed to the two Silvan leaders as they were led inside and ushered to the long tables that ran almost the entire length of the hall. It would be used for meetings and festivities, for politics and parties, for spiritual events and entertainment. These buildings were the heart of any Silvan village. Today, however, women were placing food and bread upon the tables, filling cups with fresh water, and occasionally smiling up at the warriors as they went about their duties.

"Will you sit, warriors, and share a meal with us?" said Lorthil, gesturing to the tables. The warriors' eyes had gone round and their stomachs rumbled loudly, the promise of food at a table making their mouths water.

"We would be honoured, Lorthil," said Turion as he turned and nodded to the warriors, the hint of a smirk on his otherwise rigid features.

A Sinda warrior reached for the bread, but Faunion's hand shot out to stop him, bidding him wait. Sure enough, a soft voice lifted against the silence.

"Mother, we thank you for the bounties of the forest. May we take sustenance from them, and replenish these lands, nurture your creation and praise thy name, Kementari."

With a smile, Narsorén lifted his head and smiled, the sign any well-educated Silvan knew meant the meal could begin. Abashed, the Sinda warrior smiled ruefully as he reached once more for the bread, slower this time, offering it to Faunion before tearing off a piece for himself and stuffing it into his mouth so that it bulged, and Faunion giggled at his hunger.

Muted conversation broke out as the warriors ate and the leaders spoke of their plans for the day. Legolas had one ear on his companions, and the other on Turion and his procedure, tucking away all his words and nuances. He may, one day, find himself in this very situation, as a Captain, he reminded himself.

"Tell us of the enemy, Lorthil. What of them?"

"We lost three elves in the fields a week past now. It was not a coordinated attack but a pack of scavengers. However, the darkness is pressing in- we can all feel it - there is something coming this way but we are unable to identify the root of it."

Turion scowled as he turned to the Spirit Herder. "What say your omens, Narosén?" he asked respectfully. The captain was Sinda, but he was well-versed in the culture and rites of the Silvan.

"They speak of many things of late," he said softly so that only Turion and Lainion could hear. "They speak of a blight, a dark wave of festering evil - something approaches, gnaws at the forest for the trees whisper…"

"What do they say?" asked Turion.

"We know only that they fight their own battle, captain, on a plane we cannot perceive. But the more sensitive of our folk speak of resistance, a desperate fight our woodland sentinels seem to have taken up…"

"It sounds dire," said Lainion. As an Avari himself, he understood these people's superstitions, believed some of them even.

"Yes, but there are whispers of something else - it may be of no import, but they speak of - of an awakening…"

"What sort of awakening?" asked Turion, a strange tingling turning his skin suddenly too sensitive.

"We know not, Captain. Only that - we are, as yet, unsure as to how to interpret it."

Turion simply nodded, but Lainion glanced for a moment at Legolas, watching as the boy ate, seemingly oblivious and he wondered…

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

They had slept well, upon pallets of leaves and blankets, soft and warm, their bellies full and their minds filled with memories of home. Legolas indeed, had awoken to the sound of his own mouth working as if he ate - the aromas of spring pea soup almost perceptible upon his salivating taste buds.

Now, after a refreshing bath in the nearby river, Legolas lounged back against a tree, listening to his companions talk quietly of mothers and fathers, of sweethearts and lovers, of nut cakes and venison pie. For Legolas it was Amareth's pea soup, and a dreamy smile was back on his face.

He had watched Turion at breakfast as he spoke with the village leaders, had asked after their defences, the recent attacks, ascertaining the general mood of these foresters, even with the Spirit Herder, a controversial figure at the best of times, for not all the Sindar respected their ways.

Rising slowly, he murmured to his companions, "I am going for a walk," to which Angion replied, "stay within the perimiter, Hwindo."

Legolas nodded and strolled away, walking slowly as his mind worked.

He thought of his performance as a novice, of what he had learned, of the thing that haunted him now - the strange malady that had taken him not so long ago. He thought of Turion and Lainion, of their lessons and guidance, and he thought of Amareth, of Idhrenohtar and Ram en Ondo whom he missed.

He stopped of a sudden, his inner musings abruptly ending as his eyes focussed sharply at what stood before him, for there stood a mighty oak, its size and beauty taking Legolas' breath as his eyes took in the magnificent specimen.

"'Tis awe inspiring, is it not?" asked Narosén who had appeared at Legolas' shoulder silently, making the boy flinch.

"It is… _majestic,_ " whispered the novice, his mouth barely moving, his eyes fixed on the massive expanse of its branches and leaves, his eyes alight in wonder.

Narosén, however, was watching the young warrior carefully, his own, honey-coloured eyes anchored firmly on the strange green irises of the Sindar boy.

"'Tis strange to come across a Sinda who admires a tree the way you do, child."

Legolas scowled, ripping his eyes momentarily from the tree to the strange spirit herder beside him.

"I am _Silvan_ ," was all he said.

"You do not look Silvan," came the all too familiar retort which always managed to exasperate him. Calming his irritation, he explained as briefly as he could so that he would be left once more to admire the tree before him.

"I am both, Sir, but my heart lies in the forest, with my people."

"A Silvan at heart then, if not of blood."

"Of blood too, Narosén," said Legolas somewhat curtly.

"I do not mean to offend, only to comprehend, warrior. I - I have been observing you for some time now. You are restless and in your wandering you have come here, to this tree - why?" asked Narosén softly.

"I did not come to the tree, Narosén, I simply came across it."

"That is a matter of perspective, I suppose," he said with a smile. "Come, join me?" he asked as he held up a skin with what Legolas could only hope was wine. He was not on duty and would be permitted to drink, in moderation of course.

"Legolas gave Narosén a tight smile and nodded, following him under the boughs of the oak until they sat near its base.

Legolas accepted the skin with both hands and a nod, before taking a long draught, savouring the rich, woody aroma that warmed his chest, before handing it back and watching as his companion drank.

"Why do you watch me?" asked Legolas in genuine curiosity.

"I am not sure, eh, what should I call you?" asked Narosén with a frown.

"I have many names," said Legolas with a smile. "Hwindohtar, the Silvan, Legolas… you may choose," he said with a smile as he drank once more.

"The Silvan?" came the surprised question.

"Yes, I know - I do not look Silvan. My father was a Sinda and my mother a Silvan. I have inherited his face but her eyes. It is more a question of the soul, Narosén. I feel Silvan, they are my people, the ones I wish to protect…" he finished, his eyes turning inwards with his own thoughts.

"Then Silvan you are, of that there can be no doubt. I knew from the way you admired our sentinel," he said lightly, but his eyes betrayed him, for there was a heaviness in them, a deep, almost hungry expression in them.

"Sentinel?" asked Legolas, his eyes focussing once more on Narosén.

"The more sensitive members of our society say this tree is our guardian, the one that looks over us."

"What do you mean by sensitive?" asked Legolas, his right hand smoothing over the mossy ground beside his legs.

"There are those that can feel the trees, that feel their emotions. They can sense their moods, feel their joy, suffer their _fear_ …" he whispered finally, honey eyes wide and almost aflame as they sank into Legolas' green irises.

Legolas' own eyes were wide, not quite sure of how to interpret Narosén's words but one thing was for sure - it was a plausible answer to his own predicament - was he himself one of these sensitive elves?

His hand brushed over the ground once more and Narosén's eyes followed it. A long finger reached out and brushed over a root and the young warrior froze, as if struck.

"Legolas?" whispered the Spirit Herder.

"Child… do not be afraid…"

He heard, as if from far away, but he could not answer and the colours were back, that green and purple halo appeared once more, surrounded everything but when he looked at the sentinel now, it was shining a dazzling white blue, transparent though and something moved within, the sap pumping up and down the drunk, pulsing into the branches and into leaves, a living life force of pure light.

He had not breathed for some time and he sucked in a laboured breath, standing shakily upon legs that threatened to give way. Narosén followed suite, his eyes never leaving those of the boy.

"Do not be afraid…" said the Spirit Herder, watching in fascination as a white-blue light was reflected in the boy's green eyes, a light that he himself could not see.

"What…."

"It is a _good_ thing, Silvan. Feel it, let it in… for Kementari has blessed you."

His mind was filled with emotions and sensations, of sureties and doubts, of something arcane he could not fathom and it was suddenly too much, and with a cry he fell to the forest floor, only his strong arms keeping him from falling flat on his own face.

Narosén was beside him in a flash, his own face alight in wonder and awe, the strange blue light now dwindling in his own eyes. He spared a glance into the brush to his right, where an elf stood watching, and Narosén nodded to him, watching as Lorthil returned it, and then melted away into the darkness of night.

" _Now_ I understand," murmured the spirit herder, his face alight with wonder. "There is hope, hope for the Silvan people." He smiled then, before looking down upon the beautiful child that sat upon the ground beside him. His long hand reached out and smoothed down the strange locks of blond and silver, before his fingers traced the outline of his large green eyes and then ran down the side of his smooth rosy cheek.

"Legolas of the Woodland Realm," he whispered, watching as the singular face turned to meet his gaze, open and trusting.

"You, are _ours_!" he announced solemnly.


	16. Deliverance

Author's note: I would just like to thank the guests who reviewed the last chapter. Thank you very very much for commenting, it means the world. Incidentally, I lost track of the reviews I responded to and may, inadvertently, have missed some. If I did, my apologies -

Chapter sixteen

The next day, Legolas did not awake as he had done the previous day, with the delicious memory of Amareth's pea soup, but to the urgent, barked orders of Lainion.

"UP! Kit out _now!_ There is fire to the South. We move in five minutes! The lieutenant's urgent words echoed around the glade as the villagers made for the main hall, their faces white and tight with worry. There were many inside the forest who had not yet emerged and no one, as yet, knew the reach or direction of the flames.

Tirion spoke urgently with the village leader Lorthil as he pulled his gloves on, and then turned and trotted back to the patrol who were now strapping on their weapons and cloaks.

"This is what we know. There is fire to the South, and the breeze is pushing it westwards, towards the forester's outpost. There is a river not far from here. I need water pumped this way through their irrigation pipes, so that Lorthil can oversea the villagers and take preventive measures while the rest of us travel to the source and douse the flames if we can. Legolas, Faunion, you are in charge of ensuring these people get the water they need to protect themselves should the flames reach them, the rest of you, move out!"

Legolas frowned deeply, feelings of inadequacy assailing him once more, turning only briefly as Lainion's heavy hand rested on his shoulder for a split second before he ran off behind the captain. Turning with Faunion, both elves ran towards the river, Legolas' mind heavy with grim thoughts. Tirion was either protecting him, or was still unsure of his worth. There was a third option too, one Legolas had wanted to consider, but it had pushed its way to the fore and would not be ignored. What if Tirion thought him an invalid, cursed with some strange illness that rendered him useless to his patrol? What did it take? he wondered, to be accepted as an equal? To prove his metal?

Reaching the pump, Faunion opened the recluse as Legolas began to pump, watching as the water slowly gained momentum and the liquid began to flow down the pipes that had been skilfully engineered, straight into the heart of the village where the Silvans gathered it in pales and began to wet the ground, the foliage and trees surrounding the settlement. It was not, it seemed, the first time they had done this, for they were well-organised.

After ten minutes of furious pumping, Faunion took over as Legolas watched the water, ensuring the pipes were adequately aligned. His arms burned with fatigue, but it was not enough to stop his errant mind from returning to the strange events of the day before. It had harrowed him but somehow, on a deeper level, he was actually more at peace than he had been when they had first arrived.

' _Do not be afraid…_ ' Narosén had said.

And although he had been, it was not the sheer terror he had felt the day before when he had first sensed the Sentinel. His mind seemed to be assimilating his 'condition,' albeit it had yet to fathom what, exactly, that condition entailed.

On and on they worked, until Faunion's urgent shout resounded through the glade, snapping Legolas back to the present.

"Legolas! The flames approach, the wind is _changing_!"

"Legolas looked around him, his nose already prickling uncomfortably with the smoke that was now saturating the air around them. It was true, the situation was turning urgent and an idea occurred to him.

"Faunion, continue pumping while I go to the hall. I will return in ten minutes!" he shouted. Faunion simply nodded and Legolas was away, sprinting parallel to the water pipes until he was inside the glade.

At the doors of the Hall stood Lorthil and Legolas ran straight to him.

"Lorthil - what else can we do? The flames are approaching, what are your priorities?"

"Our people are still out there, but the smoke is so dense in there I dare not risk sending a rescue party."

"What is their route?" he asked. "From where do they emerge? Is there a path?"

"Yes - there, do you see it? gestured the leader, his eyes now watering as the smoke became denser and the noise had them shouting in order to be heard.

"I will do what I can. Can you send someone to relieve my companion at the pump?"

"Yes, but child - do not go - you do not know the way…" pleaded the leader, his eyes wide and round.

"I must try," he said urgently, his hand resting on the leader's sleeve, "if the flames become visible to you, lead your people to the north-east - we will find you," he said firmly, before nodding, and dashing into the smoky haze until he was lost from sight. Lorthil watched after him with respect, for he himself had never been a warrior; he did, however, merit himself with the skill of recognising one. That did not douse his rising anxiety though, for nothing could happen to this one, not now when they had only just found him.

He ducked then, back into the village hall to watch over his people. _Narosén_ had found him, he corrected himself and then smiled inwardly. Perhaps now, the Silvan people would regain the position they once held within the forest realm - one of equality and respect.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Smoke burned his eyes, and tears left streaks down his now dusty grey face. Wiping at his eyes in irritation, he continued to track through the dense foliage and trees, his ears straining to pick up the slightest hint of civilians seeking refuge. The good news was that he had not yet encountered the flames, but the smoke was becoming a serious hinderance.

Further inside the forest, all was black and grey, but a hint of blue caught his eye and soon enough three elves loomed before him, coughing and spluttering. Legolas ran towards them, his eyes searching them for wounds.

"Are you alright?" he asked urgently.

"Yes, but there are many more behind. The flames advance and they will soon be unable to find the path," informed one elf as he supported his companion.

"Alright - keep straight, due west. There is but twenty minutes to go - do not stop!" he shouted as he walked away, promptly disappearing into the dense smoke. Should the foresters lose their way, they may be pushed into hostile land and would be as good as dead. He guessed the patrol would be off to his left for an unnatural heat emanated from that part of the forest. His brothers were in the thick of it, but they would be too caught up in dousing the flames to ensure the safe passage of any foresters unlucky enough to have been caught in the fire.

He met several more elves, some of them with minor burns and all had said the same. There were more ahead, he must hurry!

Covering his nose and mouth with the hood of his cloak, he pushed forward, eyes streaming and lungs heaving. He could hear the crackle and hiss of burning wood now - he was close to the origin and sure enough he soon heard shouting and screaming.

"Here, over _here!_ " he shouted, making sure he did not move his back from the position from which he had emerged, else he too would loose his sense of orientation.

Elves flocked towards him, their hands reaching out before them, for visibility was now so poor they could barely see past their own, outstretched arms.

"Please, you must help, there are _children_ in the boughs, up there - we sent them up for protection but the wind has changed…"

Hands grappled desperately with his tunic, the fraught face of the elves imploring him to do something. "Our foresters are trying to reach them but one has fallen …. you must _hurry!_ "

Pointing to the path, Legolas spoke urgently. "Stay straight, join hands and cover your faces - go!"

They filed past him in single file, their hands brushing over his arm in a final call for aid for the ones that were still behind them, imploring him to do what they could not.

Coughing harshly, Legolas pushed through the curtain of smoke until a large tree loomed before him. At its base four elves shouted and signalled, their arms aloft. Jogging up to them, Legolas listened to their shouts and pleas.

"He cannot reach them!" shouted one desperately. "The children have taken refuge where we cannot reach!" he screamed, panic now beginning to take him.

"Show me where!" shouted Legolas, shaking him by the shoulders. " _Where are they!_ " he yelled.

But the elf was lost and it was another who answered. "There, see," he pointed. They have moved so far away from the trunk, the branch is too thin to take our weight, it will break and the children are too frightened to move - Valar, what…."

Legolas rid himself of his cloak and pack, laying his weapons atop it, before running towards the trunk and scampering up until his hand latched onto the first branch and he swung himself up. Higher he moved, calling out for the children as he moved.

Half way up the tree now, he heard the answering screams. Children - young children, and Legolas' heart thumped hard. He could see them now, cowering in the middle of a thin branch that was already bending under their weight, the two little ones joined in a desperate embrace, short, chubby fingers grappling with the fabric of their bright tunics, frozen in fear.

He had no rope and even if he had, he doubted the children would let go of each other to catch hold of it. The deep ache of futility assailed him then, as he began to realise they could not be saved.

Battling with tears, he placed his palm softly on the rough bark of the central trunk, desperate to steady the overwhelming sense of pity that had taken him.

'Wrap them with the love of the forest, comfort them in death… _Kementari…_ ' he whispered shakily through the emotion, his tears flowing freely now. But as his eyes focussed once more on the embraced children, his eyes began to fail him once more, and again, he could see nothing but blue and green, with tinges of purple. He saw, once more, the pulse of brilliant blue sap as it pumped through the trunk and the branches, into each and every twig. He saw the brightness of the children's souls, those that would soon be extinguished even before they had come into their own. He watched in fascination as the liquid life of the tree pulsed once, twice, and then of a sudden the branch which was too weak to hold him seemed to become fatter, wider, stronger, the light within the brown skin becoming so powerful it almost blinded him.

He reached out to touch it in fascination, watching as it sparkled on contact with his skin and he wondered.

Gingerly, he stepped down on the branch, feeling it strong and steady, and although he did not understand it at the time, he knew he would not fall; that he could place his weight on it and that he would not fall.

And so it was, that Legolas moved slowly along the branch, crouching before the two children that remained firmly clasped in each other's arms, their eyes scrunched shut. If he called to them now they would not heed him, for they were paralysed with fear, and if he touched them they could lose their balance and fall. He must be quick, he concluded, and not give them time to react.

With startling speed, legolas reached out with both hands and grabbed the children by the collar of their tunics, pulling them back towards the thick, central trunk. They spared a startled look at their saviour, before reaching for the bark but Legolas could not allow it, for they would not let go and so he bid them cling to him, one to his chest and the other to his back.

He had been quick and it had been enough, and they wrapped their short legs around his chest and back, their arms locking around him tightly.

"Hold on," he shouted. "Don't let go - you will not fall, I promise," he said, with a confidence he did not feel.

As he carefully climbed back down, between coughs and the frightened whimpers of the children, colour began to return to his eyes, and with it, the stinging pain that made them stream, inhaling the thick smoke and resisting the urge to hack violently. They needed to get away from here now, even if that meant turning away from the path to the village - the children would not resist these conditions for much longer.

When they finally touched the ground, there was no one left waiting for them. They would have been left for dead, he realised, and so, with the children still firmly clasped to his body, he began to move away, to where the smoke was not so dense and if he was lucky, he would find water, for that was the only thing that would save the young ones.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Women sobbed quietly and the men sat stunned, for they had lost two children, and the Western Patrol had lost a warrior. There were many wounded, and now, their village hall had become a healing hall, where cots had been hastily constructed for them, and their three healers worked incessantly, mixing potions for burns and brewing teas to ease the damage done by the smoke.

Lorthil and Narosén sat together with Tirion, and Lainion sat a little further away together with the troop. They were silent and pensive, but none more than Lainion, who's strange face was pinched and pale, a perpetual frown wrinkling his forehead.

"Perhaps he escaped the flames, Lainion. Perhaps he lost his way and is waiting for the smoke to dissipate…"

Lainion turned to Angion, his face drawn, his despair written plainly on the thin, strong planes of his face.

"Nay, Angion. No one could have escaped that. Take a look at these people - they were incapacitated by the smoke, and Legolas has been in there much longer. No one could have escaped that…"

It was Faunion, the Silvan archer, who spoke then, soft and wistful. "But he is not any one… we have seen strange things with him. If anyone could, perhaps…" he trailed off, as if his own inner musings prevented him from speaking any longer.

No one answered, they simply sat, their eyes turned inwards, to the beautiful child, the skilled warrior, the joyful soul that had reached them all, and that had been lost in the forests. Tirion could not fathom the loss and Lainion, Lainion sat and he stared, and dispaired. How would he tell Handir, what would he say to the king? should he even tell him? It was too much, it surely could not be.

Soft crying could be heard in the distance and then the soft footfalls of Lorthil and Narosén as they approached the sitting patrol.

"May we join you, brothers?"

Tirion simply nodded as the two accommodated themselves.

"I believe," began Lorthil softly, "that the fire was intentional. It is not the first time the enemy has set our crops alight. Last time it happened the weather had been stable and no more came of it save for the loss of a bean patch. How nature has conspired against us this time, for the winds changed and has taken so much with it," he whispered, his eyes bright with unshed emotion.

However, Tirion's voice when he spoke, was louder, a little curt. "Why were those young children out in the fields? Surely you could see the potential danger?"

Lorthil frowned and looked to the ground before answering. "Children often accompany their elders into the fields. Thus they learn and become productive members of our society. Should we cease to take them, what a great victory for the enemy that would be, do you not think?"

"And an even greater one to have claimed their lives," stressed the captain.

"You do not understand," said Narosén from the other side. "You are not Silvan. It is our way, one which sustains out society so that this land may prosper, so that you Sindar can feast at your kingly tables…"

Tirion's nostrils flared at the acetic words. "Not all the Sindar are as you imagine them to be, Spirit Herder," he said shortly, looking away then, a clear message to the Silvan mystic that he did not wish to speak on the subject any longer.

Narosén let out a long breath, before raking his own long hand through his dark locks. "I am sorry. This is not the time for petty argument."

Tirion turned back to the Silvan, nodding his agreement before turning away again, but he stopped halfway, for the Spirit Herder was speaking again, albeit softly, as if to himself.

"He may not be lost, Captain. I cannot be sure, but there is a song on the breeze, a song of guidance…


	17. Reborn

Author's note: Hello everyone, and happy Sunday! Just another thank you to my guest reviewers, and Ninde, gracias for sus palabras generosas.

Regarding the question of female characters, um.. this story is not the best one to read for that, but Amareth will come back soon, and then there is Imladris and Arwen, oh, and Maeneth, Handir and Rinion's sister.

Chapter seventeen: Reborn

One full cycle of the sun and still, Tirion sat alone, away from Lainion and the warriors and the Avari understood him well. The Sinda was proud to a fault and did not want to be in anyone's company whilst he mourned the loss of their novice, for with every passing moment, mourn he did - Lainion knew him better than most.

Lainion however, had yet to believe that Legolas had perished. It was absurd, incomprehensible, after all they had been through. They were on the brink of carrying out their plan, one which would restore a strong and powerful king upon the thrown, curb the growing Sindar domination so that they may strive for a better, freer nation. He did not want to think about the boy himself though, for to do so would undo him, and he could not let that happen, not when he was lieutenant of a patrol.

So absorbed was the Avari in his own inner turmoil, that he visibly flinched when Faunion abruptly rose from the ground, standing taught, as tight as his bow string, as his head tilted upwards. But Lainion had no time to wonder, for the early afternoon silence was suddenly shattered by a cry from a distant guard. The lone call echoed around the glade, long and melancholy, and their hearts froze - Someone approached…

Seconds later, frantic bird call exploded around them. Eagles, owls, finches and crows became an orchestra of nature, blending now with the Silvan villagers who stood and mimicked their woodland neighbours; it was not the enemy that approached but something benevolent, for surely this was nothing if not a hail, in the purest of silvan fashion.

Those inside the village hall walked outside, their faces lifted to the trees in awe, for they had not heard this sound for many many years, not since darkness had begun to encroach upon their forest. It was a union of silvan foresters and birds, elves and animals singing together in harmony, as if they understood one another perfectly. It was beautiful and they smiled as they came to stand beside those that were already outside.

Placing one booted foot before the other, slow and tentative at first, Lainion inched forward, his body leaning from one side to the other, as if the movement would help him to discover the identity of what approached.

And then it was silent once more, so quiet it was not natural and the warriors and villagers were left standing amidst the echo of their ancient melody.

From the mist of the trees, an outline became visible, a form slowly defining itself. A warrior, a warrior carrying something and although his face could not yet be seen, Lainion was already bounding forwards, one word flying from his lips, a hoarse cry of utter relief.

"Legolas!"

An overwhelming sense of gratefulness infused him and he smiled as he ran. The Valar be praised, not dead, not _dead!_ he rejoiced.

"Hwindo!" shouted the warriors. "Hwindohtar!"

The villagers moved forward more cautiously until two women broke free and ran towards the slowly approaching figure, their lithe figures rapidly overtaking the others as they shouted the names of their children, their arms held out before them. It was enough for the spell to be broken and they all rushed forward.

Lainion had skidded to a halt and now looked on in awe, his leather skirts still fanning around his knees.

The children had been wrapped in wet clothes, their faces almost completely covered, their eyes red-rimmed but sparkling with life - they lived and the women shrieked as they pulled the children away, desperately clawing at the cloth that held them to the warrior's body, pressing them to their chests and shouting praises to the heavens as they ran back to the healing halls, not once looking back.

Legolas, now relieved of his two charges, slowly sank to his knees and bowed his head in utter exhaustion.

Tirion stepped forward, his face the very picture of shock and disbelief.

"How? How did you survive that?" he asked slowly.

Legolas lifted his gaze, his eyes red and puffy, his face almost completely black. He opened his mouth to answer, but all that came out was a painful sounding rasp that rapidly turned into a fit of dry coughing that sent him to his hands and knees.

A healer was soon by his side, but little could she do out here and so she gestured for the warriors to bring him in, hurrying after them as they supported the barely standing warrior.

Soon, Legolas sat upon a freshly made pallet on the ground. His weapons had already been removed and carefully stored in a corner. The straps of his quiver and knives soon accompanied them and now, as Lainion, Tirion and Faunion sat at a cautious distance, the healer began to unlace his outer protection. Legolas made to help her but she stopped him.

"No. The more you move, the more you will aggravate that cough. Stay still, let me do it."

It seemed he had not the strength to object, and so he sat there in a state of utter submission as his under tunic was finally removed, leaving him naked from the waist up.

The healer gasped, and then tutted as her eyes raked over the muscled torso of her patient. Now whether the gasp had been elicited by the bruises, scrapes and burns that covered him, or the impressive form of their warrior, Faunion could not say and he stifled the strange urge to chuckle, in spite of the situation.

"Now what are we to do with this mass of locks, hum?" she asked kindly, for she needed it out of the way and so, she gathered the plaited braids on top until they were bunched at his crown, taking a longer piece of straight hair and using it as a band, she secured it with a clasp from her own hair. Leaning back, she smiled wickedly as she contemplated her makeshift updo.

"Aren't you a handsome one, child!" she chuckled as she worked. Faunion did laugh then, but it didn't last long, for Legolas had not reacted at all to her words.

"Now boys. I need some time with, eh, Hwindo?" she asked.

"Aye, Hwindo," said Faunion with a smile. "It's," he began, holding his hand up, "it's a long story…" he smiled, and the healer smiled too, nodding, and then ushering them out, for the young Hwindo was not feeling well, and was obviously too proud to submit himself to the attention he so obviously needed.

Alone now, she turned back to her patient and smiled. "So _you_ are the one…"

TSTSTSTSTSTSTTSTSTSTTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Dull light filtered through the small window at his bedside, and Legolas opened his eyes. They were sore and still stung, and he resisted the urge to rub at them. The heaviness in his chest was still there, and only the slightest of movements had him straining to cough, something he did not want to do, for with it came pain.

Clearing his sore throat, he looked to the side, in search of water, startling when he realised there was a stranger sitting there, watching him.

The man was tall, with long chestnut hair that hung straight and silky around his shoulders. Light grey eyes stared back at him steadily.

He did not know what to think of him, for he spoke not, and yet his open, heavy gaze told him this elf was old, with a wisdom that comes from a humble life in the forests, indeed he reminded Legolas of Erthoron, his own village leader. Yet this was not Lorthil and Legolas sat up to meet the gaze with his own, less weighty yet just as compelling.

His eyes slipped to the side and the water that stood there, and the elf finally moved, pouring a glass and handing it to Legolas in silence. Taking it, he drank gingerly at first, testing the effects of the cool liquid as it slipped down his burned throat. It felt good and he drank more - too much - and soon enough he was coughing and spluttering, the mysterious elf now beside him, patting his back worriedly.

Before long, the healer was back with a mug of steaming liquid which Legolas eyed with trepidation. She laughed as a mother would her wayward son and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Drink it - it is honey and citrus, with some herbs in there to help clear your chest. Drink it all now. And you, Saroden, do not keep him long, he should eat and sleep."

The strange elf simply nodded, and then sat once more, watching as Legolas slowly sipped his hot drink, both hands wrapped around it, enjoying the warmth it lent his hands.

"Saroden," Legolas finally managed to rasp, and the elf winced at the painful sound, holding up his hand for silence.

"Do not, child. I wished simply to speak with you. I am chief forester of this village, the father of a child you saved yesterday," he said softly.

Legolas started, his eyes darting momentarily from the mug to Saroden.

"I cannot, _will_ not simply thank you for what you did for it seems - pathetically insufficient. I have spoken to my fellow foresters, those that were at the tree when you arrived. They have told me what happened, of the uselessness of their circumstances…"

Legolas tried and failed to articulate a word, and Saroden held his hand up once more.

"Don't. Please just, listen. I do not - we do not understand how you did it. Perhaps one day we will know the truth, for you see I do not doubt the bravery of my colleagues. I know that if there had been any way to save them, they would have. As it is, it was all they could do to make their own way safely back to the village. So you see I cannot thank you, for that will not express my feelings, but know this. One day, I will lend you a service equal to that you have given to my family. I do not know how, when, or what that will entail, only that we _will_ remember."

Legolas felt his face hot with embarrassment. He could not articulate a single word and perhaps he thought, it was just as well, for he would surely babble and make an ass of himself, and so he settled for a bashful smile and Saroden smiled back, his stern mien now that of a father who smiles upon his prodigal son.

"You are so young, still a novice, and yet - you have won the heart of the Silvan people, child. You have won our respect and our love for your service was selfless, and nothing can be more worthy in the minds of the Silvan people - but this you already knew, did you not, Silvan?"

Legolas smiled wider and nodded. He did indeed know, it was the basis of his own philosophy, what he wanted to achieve as a warrior. He did not want to be a simple fighter, executing the orders of his commanding officers. He wanted to _believe_ it.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Later that day, Legolas was given leave from the healing room, with strict instructions not to exert himself, or try to speak. With a nod and a bow of respect, Legolas had left, in search of the stream where he would wash away the bitter smell of smoke that lingered on him.

Armed with soft cloths and soap he had been procured him with, he walked slowly to the stream, nodding and smiling at the elves that greeted him on his way. He was glad when the stream came into view, for he would finally be alone, alone with his thoughts.

Ridding himself of his clothes, he walked gingerly into the river, wincing as the scrapes and burns stung on contact with the crisp water. His shoulders were soon under the water though, and he let out a sigh of utter relief, one which turned into a long groan of bliss when he loosed his hair and it cascaded down and around him, and then ducked his head below the surface and allowed himself to sink to the sandy bed.

The water was crystal clear and he smiled as he observed the fauna, small, colourful fish darting between the swaying plants that brushed tenderly over his ankles.

Surfacing once more, he relished a rare moment of sunlight, feeling its warmth upon his wet skin. It was a moment of bliss he strove to prolong as he washed himself, his hair, as he dried himself and then donned his now clean uniform, leaving only the outer protection and his weapons.

It was over, and now, reality came back to him and he heaved a long breath.

Why now? Why did everything conspire against him and his dreams?

I do not want this, he said, the words echoing annoyingly in his head as he sat, clean and beautiful, sad and pensive.

He had only ever wanted to be a warrior, a captain perchance, but he did not want this attention, it was not why he had dreamed all his life of serving. It had never been about fame or fortune but out meaning something, _belonging,_ as he had only recently come to realise.

This strange thing that took him both in battle and at rest, something related to the trees. Why? Why must this happen to him now, just when his dreams were starting to take shape?

He felt miserable and moved to lean back against the tree at his back, but he stopped himself of a sudden. This tree had startled him just two days ago and a thought occurred to him then. With a deep breath, he let his upper body lean back until the strong wood supported him. He sat rigid for a moment, until nothing happened and the still weary warrior relaxed his muscles and closed his eyes, rueful of his own childish apprehension. It was a _tree!_

Whatever it was that Narosen had muttered to him that day, he could not let it spoil his plans and a great sense of relief flooded him then and he smiled - it hadn't really been that bad, when he truly thought about it. A somewhat uncomfortable headache, altered vision and this new perspective of the trees that twice had assailed him. Nothing had come of it, not seriously…

The first time had been in battle with the spiders, and according to his superiors he had carried himself well. The second time he seemed to have sensed danger well before it had showed itself, and, with mounting trepidation, Legolas recalled how the third time it had shown him the way to save the children. Indeed, why had it even occurred to him to leave the pump in the first place?

It is a gift…

Every time it had happened, something good had come of it, in spite of the fear it had evoked in him, still did. Had the trees communicated with him on some level he failed as yet to be conscious of?

Do not be afraid…

He wondered then, if his negativity of just five minutes had suddenly turned into hope. Hope that perhaps he could dominate this thing, use it to help and to serve.

It sounded absurd even to his own ears. What was he to do? Speak to the tree? he snorted in genuine mirth then until a thought popped into his mind.

Why not?

He started, and then struggled to decide whether it had come from him, or from some outside source, the memory of Narosen perhaps.

Trees do not speak, Legolas, he ground out to himself in exasperation.

Trees do not speak, they _communicate._

He stood abruptly, spinning around and pinning the tree with a disbelieving glare.

It was me and my own thoughts, he said to himself, a dialogue with myself, nothing more…

Chuckling out loud now, he sat back down and leaned back once more, this time more confidently.

It lasted but seconds though, before his body went ramrod stiff and he froze where he sat

 _Child of the trees…._

He scrambled to his feet and only just resisted the urge to run, anywhere, far away from where he was now but he forced himself to think.

Narosén, Narosen would help him… and with that, raking his now shaking hand through his unbraided hair, he strode into the village, in search of the Spirit Herder, for Legolas was sure, sure that he was, effectively, losing his mind.

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	18. Baptism of Fire

Author's note: OK, I deserve it all. I got laryngitis and just couldn't write a thing - I couldn't even concentrate enough to sit down in front of the screen! Ah well, better now and slowly but surely, the ideas are coming back to me. It also meant that I did not answer your reviews and I never, never do that - I hope you can forgive me for that.

So on with the story and another pivotal chapter. This is the end of part two but do not worry. Part three is coming right up. I hope you continue to enjoy the story and I promise to answer all your comments, as I always have and always will.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Chapter eighteen: Baptism of Fire

Narosén roared in laughter, deep and strangely addictive, but Legolas could not see the humour at all, and so he sat before the shaking Spirit Herder, an indignant frown upon his brow as he fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Forgive me, young Legolas. I do understand your worry, do not misjudge me, but nay - you are not loosing your mind, child!"

"But how can you know that? I cannot even identify my own words when I speak them to myself, cannot even understand if those thoughts are mine or those of some other…. entity…." he said, waving his hand as if he had just commented on the fine weather. "'tis as though I were _possessed_!"

"Nay, stop, Legolas," he begged, fighting another wave of hysterics as he leaned forward to touch him lightly upon the knee. "I do not claim to have this gift but I know of another who does, and I know what she says. It would do you good to meet Agarel."

"Agarel?"

"Aye, a forester, the best we have. She lives half a day's trek to the East. Perhaps your captain would allow you the time to visit her. She would put your mind at ease, I am sure of it."

"I have already missed yesterday's patrol, I am loathe to take any more time for myself, but the idea is a tempting one."

"Captain Tirion seems fond of you," said Narosén as he watched the boy closely.

"And I of him. He has been good to me. In truth both he and Lieutenant Lainion have been the best tutors I could ever have wished for."

And it was true, albeit it was the first time Legolas had said as much to anyone.

"It is not a frequent thing, I believe, to have two commanding officers that take your training and welfare so to heart - they see something in you," said the Spirit Herder, too casually perhaps, indeed Legolas afforded him a sideways glance before speaking.

"And I do not wish to disappoint them, Narosén. I just want to understand this. If I am to have it for the rest of my life, I need to understand it, _control_ it," he said with a sour scowl.

"True. But for now, your patrol will not be back until dusk. Join us for lunch, our people are eager to meet you."

"Narosén. I am not a hero. I do not want this attention, however much I understand their hearts, I do not understand their minds. I saved those children because I _could_. Any other member of my patrol could have done the same. If there is fame to be had, let it be for the Western Patrol, not for me alone."

Legolas had said it almost as a plea, and Narosén had sensed no irritation in his tone, only incomprehension. He still did not understand, realised the Spirit Herder, and perhaps that was just as well. There would be time enough, he reminded himself.

"Nevertheless, join us. Indulge them?" asked the Silvan with a paternal smile, which was soon reflected on Legolas' face.

"Alright. The Valar forbid I refuse Silvan hospitality, Amareth's wrath would be memorable!" he exclaimed, the face of his aunt coming to his mind's eye.

"Amareth? You mother?" asked Narosén.

"Nay, my aunt. I lost my mother when I was just a babe."

Narosén's shrewd eyes held the striking green irises for long moments before he sat back and lowered his head.

"That name is familiar to me, but I cannot remember why. Perhaps I know her…" he trailed off.

"I doubt it. She has not left her village for all the years of my life, or so I believe. She never seemed interested in journeying abroad."

"And what of your father?" asked Narosén.

Silence followed his question and he furrowed his brow.

Legolas smiled ruefully then, and Narosén's intelligent eyes suddenly realised why. "You never knew him then?"

Legolas shook his head, before elucidating. "All I know is that he must have been a Sinda, but Amareth would never tell me of him. I have always believed he was some, exile, perhaps, that he had done something shameful for no one seems to have known him, or if they did, they would not tell me of him."

"It must have been hard," prompted Narosén.

"Yes. But it is no longer of any consequence. I am what I am. My father played no role in my childhood and so who can say he was ever my father?" he reasoned softly.

"You have a point, yes," conceded the wise Silvan. "But you must be curious. You must ask yourself what he was like, or _is_ like, for he may still be alive. You must ask yourself why he never played a part in your life." Narosén was walking a fine line, he knew, but he would probably never get another opportunity to ask the boy.

"No," said Legolas after a while. "I am no longer concerned with that. I used to feel shame, anger, but those days are gone. I have accepted it," he said bravely, but Narosén had not missed the defensive look, the hardened jaw and the steely glint in his eye. This was dangerous ground, but what could he say? That the boy was deluding himself?

"Perhaps," he said simply, but his own expression was clear enough to Legolas, who simply held his gaze and nodded faintly. He had not been believed, but at least he had curbed any further, uncomfortable questioning, and Narosén decided that it was enough, for today. However, there was a nagging voice echoing around his mind.

 _Amareth,_ where had he heard that name before?

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Dusk was upon them when the patrol returned to the village, apparently hail and in good spirits. No sooner had Legolas spied them, and he was trotting towards Tirion who led his elves into the village.

"What news, Captain?" he asked eagerly, a slight roughness still present in his voice.

"We have found the group responsible for the fire. Tomorrow, we hunt and neutralise," he said flatly.

He nodded and then searched out Lainion who brought up the rear, slapping his fellow warriors upon the shoulders in fond welcome as they passed him. Soon he stood before his lieutenant, reading his eyes for a brief moment before smiling widely. "My braids have come undone…" he said drolly, flicking at his long hair in irritation.

Lainion gave him a rare smile, before smirking. "I had thought the village lasses would have done that for you…" he joked as he reached back for his bow, releasing the taut string.

"If I had let them," snorted Legolas, holding out his hand to take Lainion's pack from him.

Handing it over, Lainion rolled his stiff shoulder as they all walked towards the Village Hall.

"Set up camp," ordered Tirion before turning to Lainion and Legolas who stood at his side.

"Briefing will be in one hour. Food and then rest. We set out early tomorrow morning, you too, Legolas."

Lainion nodded and then turned to Legolas, who was sporting a look of utter relief. He had been worried he would be left behind once more.

Lainion signalled with his head towards their nascent camp fire, his silent order to join the patrol and help with their chores was instantly understood, and Legolas trotted off towards Faunion and Angion, hitching a bucket and making his way to the stream.

Tirion caught his lieutenant's gaze from afar and the captain nodded. It was time, time to finish up here and move out. It was time to write to Handir and Aradan, for they would be back in a month - that was all they had to do, and the wheels of fate would be set into motion.

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They had said fond goodbyes, with many promises of passing this way again. Saroden too, had stood before Legolas and bowed from the waist, his wife and child mimicking the solemn gesture.

"Remember, Hwindohtar. Remember my promise, for the Silvan's do not pledge service lightly…"

Legolas was overwhelmed with the Silvan Forester's softly spoken words. He had no idea how to respond and so he did not and simply bowed back. "I am glad to have been of service to my Silvan kin," he said somewhat meekly, before turning to leave with the Western patrol, amid the respectful silence of the villagers, and the knowing gazes of Lorthil and Narosen, who each lifted one hand in silent farewell.

From there, they had trekked silently for two days, and on this, the third day, the darkness was beginning to weigh them down. Legolas could feel Angion and Faunion casting frequent glances in his direction, and Lainion too, would approach him and slap him upon the shoulder silently.

It was strange, thought Legolas. He had been told of the effects of darkness upon those that had not previously experienced it, told to be wary of its toxic effects upon his mind and body, and yet so far, all he could honestly say he felt was a heaviness that sat on his chest, a heaviness that other than its weight, affected him not.

He supposed he should count himself lucky, and as the hours rolled by in silence, Legolas found his confidence bolstered, and as his step grew stronger, that of his fellow warriors grew weaker, more wary. He watched them, their hunched shoulders and furrowed brows, their unfocussed eyes and heavy limbs. There was a shroud of strangeness about them, as if they had drank too much wine, yet not enough to lose their footing.

His own brow furrowed, not from the darkness, but from his own thoughts, and his head turned to Tirion for a moment, realising he had been watched.

A slight cock of the Captain's head and Legolas was by his side as they walked.

"It does not affect you?" asked Tirion rhetorically.

"No, I do not think so. I feel its presence but it does not weigh me down, Captain."

"It is not what I had expected," said the Sinda.

"Nay, nor I. I had thought that this strange - connection - with the trees would make me vulnerable and yet - it seems things are turning out to the contrary…" he said softly.

"Well, that will be an important point to mention in your performance report. Your future commanders will want to know of this. It will make you a popular choice for the Southernmost patrols."

"'Tis what I wanted, Captain. It is where the battle is fiercest, and so where I wish to be."

"Do not claim victory yet, Legolas. This is but a taste of the enemy. Do not lose your natural wariness of it, for it may play you foul when least you expect it."

Legolas held his captain's gaze for a moment, before nodding and falling silent once more.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

"This is it," said Aradan as he lifted his eyes from the parchment and screwed it up, before tossing it on the flames of his study. "One month, that is all we have."

"Now we must find out my brother's agenda and orchestrate this so that they may return home discreetly, without Rinion seeking out the Silvan. Have you spoken to Commander Huron?" asked Handir from where he sat beside the window.

"Yes. There is a window three weeks hence, a tour he is on the list for. A two week stint to the East should do it."

"Two weeks to return home, swear him in and leave for Imladris. It seems an impossible task."

"Look at it as a challenge, Handir. It will be delicate, stressful no doubt, but it must be done. There is no other way and even then, the chances of something going wrong are high. This will be a test to both of us," said Councillor Aradan as he turned and contemplated the Evergreen forest that rolled majestically before him, disappearing into the distant horizon.

"Have you thought on how you will tell him? Tell my father of his Silvan son and with it, confirm the death of his chosen?" said the second prince, a hint of aggressiveness in his tone.

It did not surprise the councillor however, for Handir had taken this extremely well so far; there were bound to be moments when the boy would rebel against it all, allow his disdain and disapproval to get the better of his diplomatic skills.

"I have put some thought into it, aye. And you? For yours is, perhaps, the greater task. You must approach a complete stranger and tell him his half-brother is a prince, and his father a king. A difficult situation at the best of times and yet the added emotional weight will make your goal much harder to achieve.

Handir's face went sour at the mere thought and Aradan did not envy him at all. It was a monumental task which may very well turn out to be a complete disaster should the wrong words be employed, or should the heart take it upon itself to hurt and distance, rather than to simply obey the commands of its mind.

"I have thought long and hard on the matter, but I am still nowhere near a plausible tactic. I believe it will be best to wait for the moment to arise. I do not know him, do not know his moods, his mindset; How can I decide on a manner in which to tell him if I cannot foresee his reaction?"

"You cannot," said Aradan resolutely. "We should, perhaps, remember why we do this. Keep our reasons in the forefront of our minds. For The Greenwood, for the Evergreen wood," he said.

"Yes. For our people, for the return of a strong king," added Handir.

"And for Thranduil, for my friend," said Aradan, his eyes glassy, for his mind had taken him back to the past and the deep laughter of one he considered a brother.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTTTTSTTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Screeches and screams, elven shouts and curses, grunts and shrieks, all mixed with the sound of scraping metal, the thud of arrowheads imbedding in flesh and the hollow thump of wood hitting bone.

On they fought under the darkened boughs of the Mirkwood, but this time it was different. The colours were there, the green and purple tinge, but his mind was sharp and in control, all of its skill centred on his body and his senses, in spite of the death and carnage, the suffering of his kin and of the trees. He felt none of this.

Duck, bend, flex, push, cut, slash and stab. Flip backwards, somersault forwards, side twist and parry; kill, kill, kill…

He could feel the precision of his movements, his mind anticipating every move from his opponents, killing them all before they could even approach his personal space. They were too slow and he was too fast.

Not even the long cut to his forearm had brought him out of his defences. He had not felt it, it had not hurt, it was not important…

Sometime later, Legolas sat upon the slick ground, the damp bloody mud seeping through his leggings, and in his arms the weight of a small bundle, clasped tightly to his chest. Soft, wisps of silken hair tickled his neck and his hand moved up to smooth it down; his eyes though, did not dare to look for although he knew what it was he protected in the cradle of his strong arms, his mind did not want to accept it, for to do so would be the end of his own innocence.

"What have you there, Legolas?" came the soft voice behind him. "Will you show me?" it asked once more. Soft words spoken to calm and to sooth, a father to his son, a Captain to his novice.

Legolas looked down then, to the weight in his arms. A tiny pink ear, so pointed, so perfect, peaked out from the downy wisps of chestnut silk and his thumb caressed it lovingly. He pulled it to his chest once more, but the warmth was gone.

Tirion sat beside him now, his eyes turning to Legolas, who stared blankly off into the distance.

"His light has gone, Legolas. His mother too, has perished."

"Why?" came the soft whisper, as if he spoke to the wind but his face changed not.

"That is the question, is it not? You ask yourself how this could ever be allowed to happen. Why the enemy should benefit from taking a life such as his - what is the _purpose_?"

He paused for a moment, drawing a long breath before continuing.

"The answer is as plain as it is simple, Legolas. That babe was no warrior, but he _was_ a weapon. With his death the enemy weaves its madness amongst us; it debilitates us, takes from us all the good feelings and emotions and leaves us empty and wrathful. If you give in to this they will have won.

Legolas did not answer, but sat there for a while before, of his own accord, he slowly rose, the cold babe still in his arms, and together, they walked to their companions.

Dense smoke rose from the funeral pyres Angion, Faunion and Lainion had prepared, and now they stood and watched as their young novice approached the fires, and gently placed the still body of a child next to those that had been his kin. There were no words of solace, for there were none to be had and so they simply watched as he bent forward and placed a soft kiss upon the babe's head and then stood back in contemplative silence.

It was when he turned that the breath was stolen from their lungs. There, standing tall and strong amidst the smoke that surrounded him but did not obscure his form from their vision, he shone brighter than he ever had. Head cocked to the sun his beauteous face was hard and angular, and his eyes held a new weight, as if the soul of the dead child had taken up residence inside them, lending him an air of melancholy and yet not so. Behind those stunning eyes of green was a new resolve, hard and unyielding. He was dangerous, unpredictable, _powerful_.

Legolas had entered the Mirkwood a novice, but the novice had gone, had dissipated into the blackness of the South and in his place, stood a warrior. It was time to go home.

END OF PART TWO


	19. Preparation

PART THREE

Chapter nineteen:

It was biting cold, in spite of the radiant sun that bathed the forest in a myriad of golden hues that sparkled inside the green irises, and Legolas smiled for the beauty of it. Yet his smile was no longer that of an innocent young lad, fresh out of a remote Silvan village, wonderstruck at the sites and sounds of the city outskirts. It was the smile of one who was wiser, more experienced, less naive.

The months he had been away, towards the West and ultimately to the South and the dreaded Mirkwood, had been joyous and yet shocking; satisfying yet melancholic, frightening and so very heart-felt; so many emotions, so much to think on, to understand.

He had killed, orcs and spiders, he had, albeit barely, begun to understand his sensitivity to the trees, he had observed and learned from Lainion and Tirion's leadership skills, and he had learned to braid his hair in pure Avarin fashion.

He had also discovered his ability to traverse the Mirkwood without suffering the dire effects that had been described to him. He did feel it, he had told his tutors, but it was as if he were being protected, the toxin filtered until it reached him, in some, watered-down form. He cast a quick glance at the surrounding trees, wondering if they were responsible for it.

Tirion had told him it would make him a popular choice with the lieutenants and that was an unexpected boon, because if there was one place Legolas wanted to be, it was there, where the battle was being lost, and where he was most needed.

What now? he wondered. Would they promote him after so little time in the field? Or would there be another mission before him as a novice? He had not wanted to ask, but the question grated on him. If he was to set out once more on another training stint, would he still be with Lainion and Tirion? The thought of serving on his own, without their guidance, surprised him because he realised that he was still dependent on others, one aspect of his childhood he had not managed to rid himself of. Perhaps it would be a good thing then, to be separated from them, to fend for himself, but himself to the test, in spite of his own wishes.

The dense forest was becoming lighter, and with the light, came more elves. Foresters, farmers and children walked here and there, even waved at the warriors as they trekked their way home. Legolas resisted the urge to wave back, for it was not allowed, but he did smile to those that passed him by, for there was respect and thanks in their eyes and it humbled him.

"My Lord! Welcome home!" he heard an elf shout. Wondering who they hailed, he twisted his head, only to find an elf looking straight at him, his hand over his heart.

Legolas stared for a moment, before looking behind him, in search of the Lord, but there was no one there, only Faunion, who wore a puzzled expression on his face.

Legolas pulled a face and shrugged his shoulders, and then turned his face to the fore once more. Perhaps the elf thought Tirion a Lord, rather than a captain, not that there were many captains from the nobility, of course, for Legolas could name them all, knew their houses and names, their flags and colours, he knew all there was to know about them.

And so he returned to his thoughts as his eyes took in the new sights and sounds. They were close to the city now, closer than he had ever been, and the familiar surge of excitement grabbed him and he smiled. Still young enough to enjoy life! he exclaimed to himself, and for a while longer, Legolas was a lad once more.

At the fore, Lainion and Tirion shared a worried glance. There was no doubt in their minds about what had just happened. They were not even at court yet, and someone had already mistaken Legolas for a member of the royal family.

"We cannot go any further, Tirion 'tis madness; our plans will be dashed even before they have begun," whispered Lainion.

"By rights he should reside at the city barracks, but you are right, of course. Perhaps we can get them into the training barracks until we leave again," mused Tirion. "We would have to backtrack…"

"The boy already has a reputation, _the Silvan_ , remember? This will not be as easy as we had tought, Tirion, it is dangerous. I wonder," he said then, "I wonder if I could provide Legolas with a bed for a few days. My adopted village is not far from here. Close enough to attend my duties in the city, yet far enough to reduce the risks of Legolas being recognised. Can it be done?" asked Lainion.

"Yes," said Tirion cautiously. We would have to take him off active duty. We could regroup him once the Imladris party is ready to depart. Prince Handir assures us all is prepared. His brother leaves in one week and should be abroad for another two."

"Then that is what me must do. It eases my mind to have him as far away as possible from court. We are not yet ready to take that risk, not while his existence is not known to those who matter."

"Aye," said Tirion. The rest of us must return to the city, where you and I will meet with Lord Aradan and Prince Handir. We must coordinate our efforts else all will be lost."

With a nod of agreement, it was decided, and soon enough, a puzzled Legolas left together with Lainion amidst heart-felt goodbyes, and promises of serving together once more, for the impact the young novice had made upon Faunion and Angion went much deeper than anyone realised at the time. .

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

The next day, Lainion had ridden with the sun, bidding Legolas rest until the evening, when he would be back with news from the city. Again, Legolas had held his tongue, but only because Lainion had promised to brief him that very same day.

And so, he sat in nothing but his breeches and a light shirt, his feet dangling in the slow trickle of the stream that ran parallel to the humble silvan settlement. Here, the residences were in the trees, and Legolas decided he liked this. He had marvelled at the crafted stairs that winded around the thick trunks, the ropes and pulleys that connected one flet to the next, and to their water supplies below. It was ingenious and he resolved to find books on engineering and village planning.

The water was cold, a sure sign that autumn was gone and winter approached. It was still cloudless though, and blessed sunlight still kissed Arda, but the chill was biting and he took his feet from the water and crossed his legs.

Why they had left before their arrival in the city, he could not say. He was experienced enough to know that there was a reason for it, and he also knew that Lainion would not speak of it until he was ready. The Avari was often tight-lipped, preferring the significance of silence than the clumsiness of words. He would wait - after all, surely he would be better off residing in this village than in the cramped barracks. He just wished he knew what was going on. Was he still a novice? Where would he be sent now, and with whom? And why, why did Lainion not speak plainly with him?

As he leaned back into the tree behind him, a sense of peace descended upon him and he decided that so far, his adventure had actually gone well. Better, perhaps, than he could have hoped. Aye he had felt clumsy and inadequate at the start, but he had overcome and proved himself to his fellow warriors. Surprisingly too, his own illicit begetting had played no part in his life at all. There had been no antagonism, no mention of it at all and he had managed to forget - forget he had no father and no siblings, no mother or grandparents - only Amareth - and he smiled. It slipped though, for she too, was tight-lipped, stubborn to a fault when it came to his past and the wherefore or it. She had always hidden that side of life from him, just like Lainion hid things from him now.

Was he so obviously young and naive they thought he needed protecting? Did he seem delicate to them? Unable to handle the sordid details of life? No, he decided, and although the seed of doubt was there, he did not think that was it at all.

They love you…

He scowled, for there it was again. Was that his own mind, or was it the tree at his back? Glancing back in annoyance, he felt the urge to chuckle and again, wondered if it was his own mirth, or that of the tree.

It was exasperating and then he remembered Narosen splitting his sides when Legolas had ran to him shouting that he had lost his mind.

He did chuckle then, and then sat back once more and absently caressed the rough bark with his hand.

Peace was upon him once more and another thought popped into his head.

Patience, child, patience…

Now he knew. That had not been him, and finally, Legolas accepted the truth. He could hear the trees….

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

It was already past the lunch hour when Lainion met Tirion before the great doors that led into the fortress and Thranduil's court. Clasping forearms, they walked purposefully towards Lord Aradan's office.

Knocking upon the carved oak, they were bid enter and they strode through, into a large, well-appointed room. A roaring fire crackled and hissed off to one side, and orange light illuminated the beautiful artwork that sat upon the walls, one of them a portrait of Oropher, first king of Greenwood the Great.

Lainion was transfixed, so much he failed to respond to the councillor's welcome.

"He was, indeed, extraordinary, was he not," said Aradan solemnly.

"Forgive me my Lord, 'tis just, the resemblance is …."

"Striking," finished Tirion.

"Is he truly that alike?" asked Aradan softly. Prince Handir saw him from a distance and stated there was indeed, a likeness."

"Then he must have been far away indeed. King Oropher had the blue-grey eyes of our King Thranduil and Legolas' are - _green_ \- suffice it to say. But that is the short of it, Councillor. No one that knew our Lord Oropher could ever ignore the Silvan's house."

"Where is he?" asked Aradan as he approached them slowly, his shrewd eyes anchoring on them both.

"He stays with me, in Dorolén, not half a day's ride from here. I thought it best to keep him away from the crowds my Lord."

"Well done," he said, before bowing to the figure that now joined them. "Prince Handir," he hailed and the two warriors bowed formally. Lainion's eyes lingered on his ex charge, realising that this was Legolas' brother - the thought seemed utterly absurd to him - the news was monumental and he suddenly doubted they could ever pull this off.

"Captain Tirion, Lieutenant Lainion. At ease if you will, this conversation is private. Aradan, seal the doors."

Moments later, the four elves sat around a small round table, fine wine before them, their faces cast in shadows, and where the warrior's worked leather creaked with their movement, Aradan and Handir's robes swished softly as they accommodated themselves in their plush chairs.

Swallowing his first sip of wine, Aradan sat forward, his long fingers stroking his chin as he spoke. "Prince Rinion leaves eight days hence, to the East where he is expected to stay for at least half a cycle. It must be enough," he said seriously, no preamble, no pleasantries, no - curiosity, realised Lainion.

"As for my father, he expects me to leave ten days from now."

"The King was not loath to release you while Prince Rinion is abroad? I admit the thought had crossed my mind," said Tirion.

"Prince Rinion's visit is to the local villages, not the outposts further south. It is not a dangerous mission, indeed it is not a military mission but one of trade. He saw no conflict of interests; it is all set."

"It seems to have been easier than we had foreseen," added Aradan. "And I must admit that makes me wary. The only setback so far has been the Crown Prince's desire to meet the Silvan, and that has been easily set aside for now for said Silvan is, supposedly, still in the South. You did well to keep him away from the city, Lieutenant," he finished with a nod of approval at Lainion.

"However," said Tirion carefully, placing his glass upon the table. "I must report a - surprising - development…"

"Oh?" said Handir with a scowl, sharing a momentary glance at Aradan. "Has something happened?" he prompted.

"Well," said Tirion, "you could say that, my Prince… "

"Come, Tirion, do not leave us in the dark," said Aradan, worry now clearly etched on his wise face as he sat forward, his shrewd eyes searching those of the Captain.

"The Silvan, he, ah, he has a _gift_ …"

"A gift," said Handir flatly, his eyes straying to Aradan once more.

"There is, evidence to suggest that he, eh, has some sort of - _green magic_ \- my Lords." His voice had been soft, as if his tone could somehow take away the import of his words.

"Green magic," said Aradan this time, his voice equally monotone.

"My Lords," began Lainion, his eyes seeking and attaining Tirion's permission to continue. "All we know at this time is that this gift has manifested itself for the first time on this mission. It is some sort of - sensitivity - to the trees. He senses danger well before the rest of our warriors, and he seems almost impervious to the wiles of the dark trees in the South."

"That does not sound like sensitivity to me," snorted Handir.

"That is what we thought, my Prince," continued Lainion. "But when he describes it, he says he senses there is some sort of filter, that he does feel it but that something stops him from suffering its consequences…"

"The trees….." said Aradan.

"That is what we think, my Lord. There is nothing certain at this point but it is something you both should be aware of. So far, he cannot control it, and there may be further developments we are, hitherto unaware of."

A deep breath proceeded Aradan's next words. "Alright, now is there anything else that may interfere with our plans?" he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"The boy," began Tirion, and Lainion was surprised at the small hint of uncertainty in his usually strong and confident captain. "The boy is extraordinary. He his young and inexperienced in all things and yet he fights as the warriors of old, and there is a quality about him that inspires - love and - _loyalty_. Our entire patrol expressed their wish to serve with him again, in spite of his rank of novice, and my good Lieutenant Lainion, I believe, shares that wish," he said. There was a question in his words and in his eyes and Lainion stared back at his friend, his strange, slanted eyes glinting in the shadows as only silence followed the Captain's words.

"Well, Lainion. Is this true?" asked Handir, and although his tone had been neutral, his voice seemed to echo around the room unnecessarily loudly.

"Yes, yes it is true. Yet even if you were to demand of me an explanation I could not give it for I cannot explain it myself….

Silence, again.

"Well now," said Aradan, his tone bringing them all back to the present. "Guard Captain Celegon has requested to see you both tomorrow morning, briefing for our upcoming journey."

"Celegon?" asked Tirion, clearly surprised.

"Yes," said Aradan. "He is to lead Prince Handir's caravan."

"But, what about Captain Tirion?" asked Lainion with a scowl. "I had assumed…"

"Then you assumed incorrectly, Lainion. When a member of the royal family travels, it is the Guard Captain to oversee the journey personally."

Tirion looked to the floor and closed his eyes for a moment, and when he looked at Lainion there was an apology in his eyes. "Celegon is Sinda - with a capital S," he said, his tone somewhat dark and sarcastic.

Lainion stared back at Tirion. It was true then, what he had heard. Celeron was the Guard Captain, one of their best warriors and leaders, but those that served under him spoke of his cold demeanour, his cutting manner and often times cruel words. He was respected but feared, obeyed yet not from the heart, but from the mind.

"But he would have known Lord Oropher, he will recognise Legolas…" said Lainion, a note of alarm creeping into his voice.

"We could not avoid it," began Aradan. "It is custom and had I contested that decision I would have raised suspicion. We must work around this. The caravan is large and armour will be worn. We need to keep the boy away from the fore."

"He will need protection, help - someone to make sure he is not discovered before he can be told the truth - little will it matter once both he and the king have been told."

"Idhrenohtar and Ram 'en Ondo…"

"What?" asked Tirion distractedly.

"We must send Idhrenohtar and Ram 'en Ondo as the caravan's novices."

"Can novices be sent on such a mission?" asked Handir.

"Yes, it is not unheard of," said Tirion. "But Celeron will not like it."

"See that it is done," said Aradan.

"Who are Idhrenohtar and Ram 'en Ondo?" asked Handir.

"Lainion smiled. "They, are _the company_ …."


	20. Now We Are Four

Author's notes:

Sorry, sorry for the long wait. To make up for my cruelty, I have two chapters lined up for you, so I will give you a couple of days to read this one, then post the next. As always, please send me your impressions :)

Also, I would like to thank all my guest reviewers, I always wish I could answer you guys. Ninde, me alegro que te gusten mis personajes y las amistades que van surjiendo. Poco a poco se va formando el ya famoso Company, como irás viendo en los próximos capítulos.

Chapter twenty: Now We Are Four

"I have news," said Lainion as he dried his long black hair with a towel, watching Legolas as he prepared the evening meal.

Lainion's flet was simple but efficient, comfortable even, but there was no space left unused, and now he sat at the long table before the hearth which he used for cooking.

The smell made his mouth water and he poked his head over the rim of the earthenware pot that bubbled over the wood fire.

"Rabbit?"

"Aye, with some mushrooms I picked up. You're hungry!" said Legolas with a grin that did nothing to convince Lainion that the boy was calm and in control, as was obviously his intent; indeed it was all to clear he was bursting at the seems for the news Lainion brought from the city.

"Hungry, yes," he smiled back, "almost as much as you for the news I bring," he grinned lopsidedly as he watched the stew ooze out of the ladle and into his bowl, the aromatic steam hitting him full in the face.

"Thyme and rosemary…" said the Avari with relish, his eyes half-closed as he inhaled noisily.

"Aye Lainion!" chuckled Legolas. "You are cruel and I will die if you do not tell me… I cannot fool you."

"Peace, Silvan boy! Come sit and I will tell you. There is good news, and there is - not so good news. Which will you have first?" he asked, before shovelling a spoonful of stew into his watering mouth, unsurprised that Legolas made no move to eat his own dinner.

"Alright. We have a new mission."

"What? Where! When do we leave!" came the frantic questions, but Lainion held up his hand for silence.

"It will surprise you…"

"Out with it!"

"Imladris. We ride to Imladris."

Legolas stared dumbly at Lanion and the lieutenant was not surprised. It did not make much sense to anyone save those that had planned it so.

"Imladris, what - _why?_ " he asked in consternation.

"It may seem strange to you now, but this is an opportunity you should embrace, Legolas. Prince Handir travels there to study under the Noldo councillor Erestor, of whom you may have heard. With him, travels a caravan of twenty warriors. It has been decided that the best novices from their promotion may travel with the caravan, and stay in the land of the Noldo for six months, to study warfare, as a boon for their efforts …"

Legolas sat back and Lainion knew he did not quite know how to take the news. He wondered too, for a moment, if the boy had seen the subterfuge for what it was.

"Six months? But - but are there any orcs there? Spiders? I do not wish to sit idly for so long, surely this is a mission for the home guard, more of a procession almost, than a patrol. I am a fighter, not a ceremonial guard!" he finally shouted, his hands flapping in the air as if he could somehow draw the scene that seemed to play out before him.

"Legolas. There are more than enough foul things that way for the both of us, and in answer to your queries, only the best travel with our royal family. You should be honoured."

"I am, I suppose, but - but _six months_!"

Lainion laughed then. Still a child, he realised, at least in some things. "Legolas, _think_. Six months to learn - do you not know who resides there?"

"The Noldor, aye. There will be veteran warriors there, but we have them here too, Lainion. Good warriors I could learn from. You, Tirion, Hûron…"

"But we, do not have _him_ …" said the Avari as he ate his stew, grinning at the question he knew would come.

"Who is _he_?" asked Legolas, perplexed.

Putting his spoon down, Lainion leaned forward and held Legolas' gaze. "He - is Glorfindel - of _Gondolin_ ," this last word he whispered for effect and Legolas' eyes widened in awe."

"You jest, you -"

"I do not jest, boy. Glorfindel of Gondolin is Imladris' general. He will teach you the art of warfare. Does that not change everything?"

"I, I, Lainion, I …" he flapped.

His stuttering was interrupted by scandalous laughter, for Lainion had never seen the boy so impressed. It was entertaining.

"Lainion," said Legolas, visibly attempting to pull himself together. "I will be taught by Glorfindel of _Gondolin_? The _real_ one, not some other elf…?"

"Yes," said the lieutenant, as if it was obvious. "There is more though…"

The boy sat unceremoniously, raking his hand through his hair and Lainion took pity on him.

"You did not quite understand what I said earlier when I spoke of the wherefore of your inclusion on this journey. You see, I did not say the best _novices_ were to travel with us,I said 'the best novices from their _promotion'_ …would travel. You have been granted the status of _warrior,_ Legolas…"

Legolas' mouth opened as if he would speak, but he closed it once more. "I am a warrior?" he asked flatly, his eyes unblinking.

"A warrior, of His Majesties Woodland Militia, the youngest we have," said Lainion with a proud smile.

Legolas stood slowly. "I am a warrior," he whispered, his eyes misty, green irises glinting in the failing light and Lainion was reminded of the portrait of Oropher he had stood before in Aradan's offices.

"You will take your vows soon enough, there is no rush. For now, you have ten days to prepare for our journey."

"I am a warrior of the Greenwood, and I will be trained by Glorfiindel of Gondolin… wait, _our_ journey?" he asked, whirling round to face Lainion once more.

"Oh yes," he said with a cheeky smile. I managed to get myself reappointed as Prince Handir's personal guard. I would not interrupt your training so soon, Legolas. True we will not be together as such, you will ride with the troop and I at the fore with our Prince, but…"

"Together? But that is wonderful!

"…and, you will be reunited with your Company. Idhrenohtar and Ram en Ondo travel with you, as newly appointed warriors like yourself."

His smile was so radiant and his eyes so full of joyful tears that Lainion stood, he himself unable to stop his own smile from splitting his face almost in two, the welling emotion making it impossible for him to continue eating.

"Thank you," whispered Legolas. "Thank you for this. You have not said it but I know you have made it so, for me. I do not know how I have been so lucky to meet you, nor why I feel I must make you proud of me but I _do_ …"

"'Tis _I_ who should thank you, for with you came this change in my monotonous, aimless existence. You have returned to me my sense of purpose, given my life meaning beyond my own existence. We have much to do together, Legolas, if you would have it."

Legolas stepped forward and clasped the Avari's forearms with his strong hands. "Then you must be a part of my company, for only those I consider my brothers can be a part of it. It is the family I never had…"

"I would be honoured then," smiled Lainion, and then laughed. "You will have to find me one of those fancy names!"

"Fear not, for I already know what I will call you," said Legolas slyly.

"Oh? And what would that be?" asked Lainion with a quirk of his brow.

"You are an elf of few words and great deeds. You speak little but say much… you, are Dimaethor, the Silent Warrior."

Lainion stared back at Legolas blankly, before slowly smiling and nodding. "It is well chosen. I shall be Dimaethor, Dima the Avari!" he proclaimed pompously and Legolas grinned.

"Welcome then, brother of The Company - now we are four."

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

A week had passed, and Lainion had fallen into the routine of riding into the city in the morning, and then instructing Legolas personally, on the protocol and logistics of the journey ahead. He had told him of Celegon, the Captain General, warned him of the warrior's badly veiled prejudice towards the Silvan. He had instructed him on his uniform and armour, how to care for it and when to use his helmut. He had even given the boy history lessons on the Noldor; not that he had been completely ignorant, but neither was he well-informed. He had spoken of Elrond, of Erestor and Glorfiindel, of Lindir and Melpomaen, of Gildor the Wanderer and the Lord's own twin sons … he had even spoken of Mithrandir, who was often found in the lands of the Bruinen. Lainion had also taught him of men, for they would surely traverse their lands at some point during their stay.

Legolas had been fascinated by it all, and had avidly tucked away the information, but most of all Lainion knew the boy was beside himself with the prospect of meeting Glorfiindel of Gondolin. Lainion had not met him, but Tirion knew the mythical warrior well, and had made a point of telling Lainion that Glorfiindel had been close with Oropher; there would be no fooling him. But then, what would it matter, for by the time they arrived in Imladris, there would be no more secrets …

He thought then, of the conversation that had followed their briefing. It had been long and intense, and Lainion confessed to being somewhat confused at Prince Handir's stance concerning his brother, his Silvan brother. At times he seemed amenable to easing the boy's situation, and at others he seemed to go out of his way to convince them that he did not care. Lainion was not fooled, he _did_ care, but he could not decide whether that care was for good or for bad.

He would soon find out, he scoffed to himself. And then he remembered his own musings, the ones that had been so hotly contested, especially by Aradan, who had been adamant. Lainion had questioned the necessity of drawing the secret out, had brought up the possibility of telling the boy now, rather than on the road, for where he agreed that the king should be told whilst Legolas was out of his or others' reach, it was not strictly true for the boy. Tirion however, had speculated that the impact of the truth could unhinge him. He may run off, away, or even to his father, confront him; he could ruin his blooming career as a warrior for what erroneous deeds his emotions may cause him to commit. Nay they needed to choose a time in which Legolas would have no choice but to stay where he had been sent, and then rely on his friends to keep him on the straight road, to anchor him to the here and now.

Lainion was still not entirely convinced, but he would not go against the majority. He was a warrior and in that he was wise, but Aradan was shrewder, more able to predict the reaction of others, especially those of the court and its convoluted intrigues. Legolas would be in danger, he had said. Until the time they could ascertain the impact of the appearance of a bastard son to the king, he should stay away, and be as discreet as he possibly could until such time as the Greenwood had digested the information.

Maybe he was right. Who was he to know the minds of Lord Bandorion, or Barathon, of the noble Sindar houses. How far would they go to discredit the Silvan people in favour of their own benefit? Court intrigues were not his strong point and never would be -

Yet every time he looked at the boy, every time he looked at this young elf that would, one day, be his superior, he just wanted to tell him, and then help him accept it, so that he could get on with his life, finally know who he was, his family, and the sad story behind his own existence, not to depress him but to give him closure and set him upon the path towards his destiny.

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Three days before their departure, Lainion arrived from the city a little earlier than he normally did, his arms full of bundles and packages.

Depositing his heavy load upon one of the small beds, he shook his arms and clapped Legolas upon the shoulder. "Your new uniform!. You have two of everything. Try it on and tell me if anything needs fixing, and shine your boots and your armour!"

"Yes Sir!" shouted Legolas with a bright smile, approaching the bed as a child does on Yule morning.

Lainion simply chuckled as he walked into the kitchen. A knock on the door distracted him though, and so he opened it, only to find Calen, a local marketeer and friend.

"Lainion! I was told you were back - how are you my friend!" he asked jovially as he entered and sat himself down at the kitchen table. "You look well and so I am assuming you were not skewered in the field, for which I am very grateful!"

"Not a scratch, Calen. Although the same cannot be said for the land towards the South. Blackness is spreading over the trees - we will not be able to hold it back for much longer," he said solemnly, before shaking his head and smiling. "But now, this is not the time for my melancholic mood. How are you, my friend? Still dazzling the ladies with your banter?"

"Of course! You know I am the handsomest elf round these parts," and then he stopped abruptly as Legolas entered with a smile on his face. "Well, the second handsomest," he muttered as he watched the Sinda lad approach them and nod in his direction.

"By all that is sacred, he is the spitting image of Lassiel…"

Legolas scowled and Lainion's heart skipped a beat. "Uh, yes, yes he does, it's the eyes I think," he said a little too quickly.

"Are you related, to Lassiel I mean?" asked Calen, his head cocked to one side as his silver eyes roved over Legolas' face, his hair, his eyes.

"Not that I know of, Calen. I never knew my family," he said simply.

"Ah well, that is a pity," said Calen, and Lainion did not miss the sideways glance his friend shot him.

Thankfully, Legolas said nothing and Lainion was desperate to change the subject and so he began his tale of their journey into the South-west, pulling Legolas in with him, and soon enough, the three were talking animatedly, thanks in no small part, to the wine that Lainion had placed before them. But the Avari was experienced enough to know that Calen had not been fooled. Lainion would have to speak to him, for he loved his friend dearly, but discretion, was not one of his strong points.

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Only two days now, Legolas reminded himself as he wallowed in bed. It was still dark outside, but dawn lurked on the horizon. Two more days and his life would change yet again. He was excited, nervous, apprehensive - there were so many emotions he suddenly decided he did not know how to feel.

He had wanted to continue serving in the South, but destiny had pushed him down a different path, a path that led to the finery and wisdom of the Noldor - Imladris! It had never crossed his mind, yet when he reminded himself of the advantages that Lainion had pointed out to him, the twinge of disappointment promptly disappeared.

Six months was not so bad, he mused. He would improve his sword play, for work with the short swords had progressed well after he had spent all those months investigating and researching the technique once used in Gondolin no less. He wondered then if Glorfiindel would know of it. Legolas had incorporated it into his own training routine, but he had no one to practice with, no one to improve the skill with. Of course he would know, he scoffed. He is Glorfiindel - he would know it all - he would make Legolas the best warrior he could be! His faith was blind and he knew it, but he did not care. He was all Legolas could ever aspire to being.

He envisaged himself training in the mornings with Glorfindel, and then studying in the afternoons. There would be new lands to explore, trees to marvel at, a whole new culture to learn of. Perhaps he would learn their dances too, for Legolas loved to dance.

It all suddenly seemed a massive challenge and it made him feel small again, insecure. The questions would start all over again. Who is your father? Are you Silvan? you look Sindarin…

He closed his eyes and quelled his mounting irritation. He could handle it, he had proved to himself that he could - all he needed to work on was controlling his temper… He had nothing to be ashamed of. He was the youngest warrior the Greenwood had, Lainion had told him just yesterday.

And then not two days hence, he would be back in the company of Idrenho and Ram en! He smiled, wide and genuine; it was enough and he sprung out of bed, dressed in his new uniform, braided his hair and headed for the kitchen, pulling up abruptly as he came face to face with Lainion, whose face was now but inches from his own.

"I will be back early evening. I want you in full uniform, armed and ready for me at the twentieth hour."

Legolas scowled at him, and then opened his mouth to ask why in the name of the Valar he would ask such a thing, but Lainion gave him a curt nod and strode away, bound for the court, leaving behind him a thoroughly puzzled Legolas.

With a shrug of his shoulders, he left for the kitchen, for his stomach rumbled and the day was beautiful. He had much to do and even more to think on, but for the first time in as long as he could remember, it was all good.

Lainion, the silent and mercurial Avarin lieutenant, galloped away with a sly smile upon his face, yet if one looked closely enough, they would also have seen a hint of mischief, for the Avari had a secret …


	21. Now we Are Five

Author's note:

Sorry! Sorry - but let me explain :)) My mac decided it wanted servicing just before I could upload the chapter. It's back now though and to compensate, here is a longer than usual chapter. I hope it makes up for the long wait.

I really want to thank you all for continuing to review, follow and fave. And to all you guests that I cannot answer personally - thank you very, very much.

Chapter twenty-one: Now We Are Five

Legolas stood in his new uniform, his new boots and blades shining in the late afternoon sun. A long bow crossed his back, and his twin short swords peaked over his strong, leather-clad shoulders. A long sword sat in his belt and his hair had been carefully braided and pulled back from his face, the rest of it cascading down his back in pure Avarin fashion.

He wondered what Lainion had in store for him. Another lesson perhaps, or a training session in his uniform to insure he was comfortable with it. It made sense, he supposed, for in two days he would embark upon the longest journey he had ever made, his first as a warrior, he reminded himself with a giddy smile.

From the corner of his eye, Legolas spotted a group of children, huddled together in obvious collusion. They were plotting and planning, he realised, whispering furiously between themselves, and then casting furtive glances his way. They were talking about him! he realised, and smiled at their antics.

Looking around for any sign of Lainion, he was, once more, distracted as the whispering became louder, and before he knew it, one boy had broken from the main group and slowly, apprehensively, crept his way towards Legolas. His face was rigid, eyes wide and searching as he made his skittish way towards the imposing blond warrior.

"Hello child. What is it you want?" asked Legolas kindly, but far from easing the child, he stopped in his tracks, his head whipping back to his friends in panic, as if he had suddenly been caught in quicksand.

The whispering was back as they flapped their arms, telling their friend he should continue. Bolstering his courage, the young one continued his tortuous way forwards, under the puzzled yet amused gaze of Legolas.

Soon enough, he was but a few feet away from him, staring openly now. But where before there had been only fright, now, there was curiosity, for the boy's eyes strayed from the large green eyes to the thick locks tightly secured in a high pony tale.

"Are you, a - are you…."

"Speak child, I do not bite, well not usually," he smiled.

The children behind snorted in laughter and shoved each other, but their eyes never left the scene before them.

"A - are you - are you the Silvan?" he asked in awe.

Legolas was taken aback. How could this child possibly know the nick name he had been given? He was new to this village, nobody knew him except Lainion, and Lainion had not used that name here, he was sure of it.

"Yes," he answered simply, and to his utter surprise, all vestiges of fright and apprehension disappeared, replaced now but the biggest beam Legolas had ever seen on the face of a child. His eyes sparkled and he squealed in delight, bouncing on the spot where he stood.

The other children ran forwards until they reached their brave friend and of a sudden, questions began to bubble from their giddy mouths.

"Is it true, are you the Silvan?" they asked excitedly.

Frowning yet smiling, Legolas nodded. "Yes, that it what some people call me. How did you know?" he asked.

"Everybody knows the _Silvan_!" another boy shouted. "He is the mightiest Silvan warrior of our time, daddy has told me so!" he exclaimed.

Legolas was dumbfounded, but before he could ask another question, another child spoke up. "It's all true, _look!_ " he shouted, making the others giggle with glee. One brave child reached out to touch his twisted locks, and it was enough to bolster the courage of the others. Soon enough all five were touching his hair, until one little hand strayed to a short sword handle and Legolas stopped him. The boy startled, but then smiled when Legolas did, touching instead the curve of his big green eyes in wonder.

"You see! He is the handsomest warrior of them all. Mummy says you are our champion, that you will protect the Silvan people and our forests! Will you?"

"I will do all in my power to protect my people, child, for whatever difference it can make."

The sound of someone clearing their throat drew Legolas' attention and he turned to meet Lainion's amused gaze.

Straightening himself and his tunic, Legolas saluted formally to his superior as was custom when wearing one's uniform, and from the corner of his eyes, he could see the boys mimicking him. He tried to mask the grin that threatened to ruin his solemn stance but to no avail and he looked down in embarrassment.

Lainion had not meant to frighten them, but he certainly was not used to children, and his stern Avarin gaze was enough to send them running, squealing and laughing as they ran into the trees, their voices shouting over and over, " _the Silvan! the Silvan!_ "

Legolas turned his perplexed face to Lainion, whose own expression was blank, all emotion channeled, it seemed, into his words.

"News travels fast..."

"But _why_? I mean, many warriors have saved the lives of civilians, kept them from danger. Why do they talk of _me_? Legolas asked, pleaded almost.

"Perhaps," began Lainion carefully, "it is not only the _Silvans_ that speak of you..." he said cryptically as his hand patted the trunk of a nearby oak. Legolas swallowed, and quelled the cold shiver that ran down his spine.

"Legolas, the Silvan people are ruled by their respective village chiefs and Spirit Herders. They each have representatives at court, but there is no one person they all feel identified with, one they can claim as their own. A brave warrior with the qualities you already show. You have been chosen, in a sense, not collectively but individually - by many. Does that make sense?"

"No, not really," said Legolas. "You are saying they need a leader? a _Silvan_ leader?"

"Yes, yet more than a leader they need a protector, one that will defend their rights. They need to express their Silvan culture and identity, their beliefs and ethics, their art and their land. They feel marginated by the Sindar, they are hungry to state a claim."

"But I am a _warrior_ , Lainion, not a statesman. I do not want to play a part in politics..."

"You are a warrior and that, is why they chose you, for they do not want a politician, they want _you_."

They held each others' gazes for a long moment until Legolas looked to the floor and nodded, not quite sure, it seemed, that he would accept this imposed representation, that he was even comfortable with the notion.

"Warrior Legolas."

"Sir," answered Legolas somewhat sadly.

"Look to your left..."

Legolas did, and before Lainion could say more, the boy was loping forwards, his long hair streaming behind him until he crashed into Ram en Ondo's chest, and then was hugged from behind by Idhrenohtar. The three said nothing, for no words could fittingly describe the love they felt the one for the other.

And so Lainion took his time as he walked towards them, noticing Carodel did the same from the other side. Soon though, all five stood together, and Legolas spoke.

"Brothers! We have made it! Look at us! We are _warriors_ at last! and the best the Greenwood has!" he exclaimed proudly.

"Aye," said Idhrenohtar with a smile, his face glowing and his eyes sparkling. "Newly appointed warriors, bound for Imladris and Glorfindel of _Gondolin!_ "

"Mighty things lie ahead of us!" proclaimed Ram en Ondo. "But we must tell you that the Company has grown." Ram en Ondo glanced at Carodel who approached slowly, until he stood before Legolas, his face tentative, unsure perhaps, of the welcome he would receive.

"You must have proved yourself to my brothers, else they would not have proposed this," said Legolas as he clasped Carodel´s forearms and smiled.

"He needs a name!" said Idhreno slyly and Legolas smiled.

"I know exactly what his name shall be!" said Legolas softly, a little more solemnly now as his mind thought back to those first days of training at the barracks when they had drunk too much wine and sang into the night.

"You shall be Lindohtar, Lindo the Bard Warrior - welcome to the Company."

Carodel smiled and nodded, his unspoken deference implicit, for they had all understood from the start, that Legolas was the leader of this unique band of warrior brothers.

"And there is more, my friends, for there is yet another," said Legolas fondly. "This," he beckoned to Lainion, "is Dimaethor, the Silent Warrior, with whom I have shared many things. He is well-loved," he said softly with a somewhat rueful smile.

"Well, well," said Idhrenohtar, holding his arms out to the sides. "Four Silvans and one Avari. Now we are five!" he exclaimed. "I am honoured. May we fight and serve together for many centuries!"

They all smiled, but none more than Legolas. He knew Carodel and Lainion would need to know each other better, as would Lainion with Idhreno and Ram en, but in his heart he knew this was right. His family had just grown and joy leapt and frolicked in his chest. He didn't _need_ a father to feel loved, that he belonged. The Company was more than he could ever wish for.

A heavy hand upon his shoulder jolted him from his musings and he turned to look at Lainion. "Come," he said, a lieutenant once more, and Legolas nodded, falling into step with his superior, the rest of The Company behind him.

As he followed, something fluttered in Legolas´ head and a strange feeling of pressure at the back of his neck had him massaging it with his hand, scowling at the unfamiliar feeling. Noise was slowly building in his mind, jumbled and unintelligible. He frowned, partly in puzzlement and then worry, but also because it hurt.

"Legolas?" asked Lainion, his mouth close to his ear.

"I don't know, Dima. I hear, _noise_ , nonsense, I cannot understand it."

"Danger?"

"No."

"Calm yourself, Legolas, try to concentrate."

He did, and no sooner he had, and the noise stopped, the pressure now released from his neck. He heaved a deep, steadying breath.

"Better?"

"Yes."

Lainion searched his eyes for the truth and found it, and so he nodded. Idhreno's voice startled him though.

"There is something you have not told us," said the Wise Warrior flatly, his own eyes searching those of his childhood friend.

"There is, Idhreno. We will speak of it soon. We all have many things to share."

"But not now," ordered Lainion.

The afternoon light was fading and though it was cold, the sky was clear as they stopped before the lieutenant, in the centre or the small clearing.

" _Attention!"_ he commanded, and in spite of their puzzlement, the four, newly appointed warriors, uniformed and armed, straightened and then stood to rigorous attention, their eyes to the fore.

They knew that people approached from the trees, but they were not at liberty to avert their eyes. To most, their identity was not a mystery, for they knew who came and what was to come. Only Legolas was at a loss.

Captain Tirion approached until he stood at Lainion's shoulder and the lieutenant stepped to the side as he formally saluted the captain, clad in full ceremonial uniform. His con-decorations shone upon his right arm and Legolas resisted the urge to look at them.

One by one, they were formally called upon to repeat their solemn vows of service to the Crown. Their promise to give their lives for their land. In return, they were given a leather bracelet they would wear upon their biceps. With time, it would be replaced with the precious metal of Grade Bands, denoting mastership in weaponry. However, when Legolas finished his vow and gave his first, official salute, Tirion held out a finely carved silver band of intertwined vines, in the centre of which lay a carved arrowhead.

His eyes shot to the Captain's and Tirion nodded.

"You have been granted master status with the bow. Congratulations, warrior," he said formally.

Legolas bowed in humble gratefulness, for never in his wildest dreams had he imagined being a master now, while he stood and took his vows.

He closed his eyes slowly, as if the darkness could, somehow, slow down the rush of emotions - happiness, pride, determination, resolve, love - all these things he could, perhaps, synthesise in few words. He loved his king, and in his service to him, he would dedicate his life.

And now, how to become a captain, he mused, mischievously almost, for only then, would he feel the bliss of completion.

His eyelids slid open once more, and of a sudden it seemed to Legolas that the whole world had changed, or was it him that had changed? His body hummed and his mind cleared itself of a sudden, everything around him now startlingly clear, as if some small piece had slipped effortlessly into place and had completed him.

He was startled by the honey-coloured eyes that stared at him - too close. He could see himself in them, and yet not entirely. Blood of his blood, but not his mother, whoever _she_ had been.

It was Amareth, his aunt.

"My son..." she whispered, her eyes wide and misty. A gentle hand reached up and cupped his cheek lovingly, disbelief and love clearly readable upon her attractive face.

"Amareth," was all Legolas could say for a moment, for she was, in everything but the womb, his mother.

"You came..."

"For you, for this day," she said softly.

"You have never left Broadtree, or so they say," said Legolas in wonder.

"I am not a traveller, Legolas," she smiled, but he could see her words for what they were. There was a reason why she had never left their village, one he had never understood; even now she would not explain, just as she never had about anything of import in his life. It was frustrating and it curbed his exuberance, soured the joy he felt at her presence.

"Already a master archer, I see," she smiled in pride and Legolas smiled back, all thoughts of bitterness now gone.

"I cannot believe it myself but yes," he said, holding out the silver band reverently to better appreciate the workmanship.

"Legolas!" came a shout from behind Amareth and she smiled as she stood to the side. Thavron rushed past her and then crashed into this friend, rattling them both until they embraced and thudded each other upon their backs.

"My favourite forester!" shouted Legolas.

"My favourite warrior!" shouted Thavron of Broadtree. "You have made us all proud for do not think we have not heard of your deeds in the South!"

Legolas' face paled a little and his beam slipped a little.

"Oh enjoy it while you can - you are a hero! you are The Silvan!" chuckled Thavron as he held Legolas out at arm`s distance. "Your hair - what have you done?"

"What has _Lainion_ done, you mean. He has provided me with the only way of keeping it from my face in battle - it is an Avarin style."

"You look - _exotic_ ," was all Thavron could say, before hugging his friend once more and latching on to his arm. "Come, say hello to everyone, for there is a party tonight, for you, Idhreno and Ram en. We will dance and drink, eat and frolic into the night for we are _Silvan!_ " he proclaimed, and more than one voice shouted _"aye!_ " as they passed.

Woodland fiddles soon echoed throughout the secluded glade where a party of family and friends was to be celebrated. But instead, the glade had filled with many others from Lainion's village, and even from further afield.

The merry jigs were accompanied by lively percussion - drums of different tones and timbers weaved complex movements that were sometimes slow and romantic, and at others, rhythms that set the feet to tapping and the girls to swaying and smiling at the boys. Likewise, the lads eyes roved over the pretty lasses until they fixed on their next dance partner and they would reel her away in a swish of fine clothes and hair.

And while some danced the night away, others stood and talked. Every corner was occupied by small groups of elves that talked as they drank and drank again, their eyes occasionally straying to the music and the gaity of the younger members of their society. To them, and to Legolas, for he was a sight they had not seen in many years…

In one such group, Amareth stood talking quietly with Lainion. The Avari had taken it upon himself to inform her of Legolas' progress, yet only to the point of not trespassing on his young friend's privacy, indeed he said nothing of Legolas' budding gift with the trees.

As he spoke, he was reminded of a much younger and lighter Amareth, a woman that still enjoyed life. Now, however, he found her light much diminished. She was still alive, it was not grief that afflicted her, but time and the events it had brought with it, had curbed her enthusiasm for life, leaving in its wake a quietly dignified woman who spoke little and transmitted less.

He knew why. She had endured much during that tempestuous time when Lassiel, her sister, had been the king's lover, and everything that had ensued, including the queen's departure. Indeed, she never left her own village and Lainion could only assume it was to not draw attention to herself, and by doing so, to Legolas. The people still remembered Lassiel, as Calen had reminded him, for she had been beautiful; it would not take much for someone to draw the correct conclusions, secret lover of the king that she had been.

"Lainion!" shouted Calen from afar, his face flushed with the dance and the wine and Lainion prayed to the Valar he would not approach now, for if Calen had a loose tongue when sober, it would verily flap if he were, as it now seemed likely, into his cups.

Lainion's smile was a little lop sided when Calen finally reached them.

"A wonderful party, my friend! So many have come - so many lovely ladies!" he smirked as he gulped his wine, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

"Then have fun while you can, for the night is young and you - are unattached," said Lainion levelly, hoping that would prompt his friend to jump back into the fray. Alas, there was no such luck.

"Your new friend is popular with the lasses, I will have to stake my claim on Elbanie - must be those eyes. I would bet my best belt that is Lassiel's son…" he said calculatingly as he sipped once more upon his wine.

"The grapes addle your mind, Calen - Lassiel was not bonded."

"And what does that matter!" there are plenty of bastards in this world, born outside the binds of marriage!" scoffed Calen, and Lainion stiffened a little, enough for Amareth to notice.

"I tell you there is no mistaking it - I am not blind. Nobody else has those eyes, Lainion. I wonder who the lucky….." Called trailed off, his eyes growing wide as he slowly turned to Lainion, his mouth a little slack.

"Lainion," he said, seriously now, no traces of his growing inebriation. "Lainion you don't suppose…. I mean you know what they said of Lassiel - Silvan lover of the king…"

"Don't be ridiculous!" said Lainion a little too curtly, indeed he could see Calen flinch at his steely words and so he calmed his mounting worry.

"Calen, that is ludicrous and you would do well not to repeat that; it could cause much harm."

"You are protective of him," said Calen again, his gaze now shrewd and sharp. "Lainion, we have known each other for many years - do not take me for a fool. I know what I say and if his father is not - _him_ \- his mother _is_ Lassiel."

"Then for the friendship we share, Calen, do not repeat your conjectures," said Lainion in a tone that brooked no retort. "Legolas has no parents, nobody knows who they were and that is the end of it - do you understand me, my friend?"

Calen held the Avari's dark gaze for a while before answering him. "Oh yes, Lainion. I understand, I understand _perfectly_."

" _Promise_ me," said Lainion, his eyes boring into Calen's, hypnotically almost.

"I trust you, Lainion, and for now you have my promise."

"That is all I need."

Silence ensued and Amareth cleared her throat and then caught sight of Erthoron, the leader of her own village, Broadtree.

"Child," he hailed her with a smile, before turning to Lainion. "It has been a while, Lieutenant," he said softly.

"Well, I am off in search of Silvan pleasures - I will leave you to your musings Avari!" shouted Calen, before prancing away and into the crowd of dancing elves, his cup held high lest he spill the precious contents.

Lainion and Amareth heaved relieved sighs, before grinning at each other. But it did not last long, for what had happened had been as inevitable as it had been predictable. This was why Amareth had never left her village.

"What has happened?" asked Erthoron seriously.

"Legolas is in danger of being identified," said Lainion. "He is too much like his mother…" he said.

"Wait until he travels into the lands of the Sindar proper, for it will not be _Lassiel_ with whom they relate him…"

"I know," said Lainion, "I know."

Another figure approached then, Tirion who, by his expression, seemed to understand some conversation of import was taking place.

"Lady Amareth?" he asked tentatively, to which she nodded, but said nothing.

"I am Captain Tirion, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you, Captain. I believe you have been Legolas' commanding officer."

"That is correct my lady, although for this upcoming trip I cannot company him. He will be with Lainion, though."

"Tirion," said Lainion urgently, for he realised Tirion did not know she had not yet been told of their plans. Luckily though, the two had worked together long enough to understand each other's non verbal communication and Tirion nodded subtly to Lainion. It was time to tell her.

"My Lady," began Lainion. "There is something of great importance you need to know."

Amareth scowled in puzzlement but her nostrils flared, and Lainion immediately knew she was nervous. With a brief glance at Erthoron, he continued.

"Does Lord Erthoron …" he trailed off meaningfully, and Amareth understood.

"Aye, he was there. He has been my rock all these years…"

Relieved, Lainion continued. "You already knew the consequences of Legolas becoming a warrior, did you not?" he asked, rhetorically he was sure.

After a moment of silence, Amareth nodded. "Yes," she said quietly, sadly. "Yes I knew, and the Valar are witness to my doubts but - I could not hold him back," she said pleadingly. "I knew it would only be a matter of time but I could not keep him in a remote Silvan village - he is too - _important_ ," she whispered.

Erthoron looked into his cup and Lainion simply nodded his understanding.

"We too, know this. We have a plan… The day after tomorrow, both I and Legolas ride to Imladris, far from Thranduil's halls. We have arranged for Prince Rinion to be abroad simultaneously."

"Wait, I don't understand," said Amareth, shaking her head in frustration.

"Prince Rinion is - _volatile_ and, close, shall we say, to those that proclaim Sindarin rule. He would be a danger to our plan."

"Which is?" asked Amareth, a note of irritation creeping into her tone.

"Whilst both Legolas and Rinion are far away, I will tell Legolas of his heritage…" he could go no further.

Amareth gasped loudly, her own cup falling to the forest floor. "No - _NO!_ you _can't_ \- Lainion you must _not_!"

Now it was Lanion to frown, for he had thought it obvious she would understand that Legolas would need to know.

"You cannot pretend to hide it from him forever, my lady. He will be recognised and if _I_ do not tell him, someone else will - is that what you want?"

The ensuing silence was marred only by Amareth's harsh breathing and Erthoron touched her arm in concern.

"Amareth…"

"Lainion - you do not - you do not understand…" she said pitifully.

"What is it we do not understand?" interjected Tirion for the first time.

"You place him in harm's way, Lainion…" she whispered meaningfully, her eyes full of unshed tears. "If you tell him, and you tell his father, there is no telling what will happen…"

"Amareth," said Lainion softly, "'tis why we do this while he is _away,_ do you not see?"

" _No!_ I do not see. You still don't understand…"

"Amareth," said Tirion sternly, taking a step forward. "What is it that you know, that we - do _not_ …"

Erthoron breathed deeply and looked up, straight into Tirion's stern gaze. "Captain," said the village leader, "What you do not know, is that if Legolas were ever to leave his village, if his identity were ever to be known, the child would - be _dealt_ with," he said in disgust.

Both Laiion and Tirion's eyes widened at the implications. "You surely cannot mean…"

"I _mean_ ," said Erthoron, "that there are those who would do him harm, should he step into the light." The village leader's eyes shone as he gazed heavily at both warriors.

"Who told you this?" growled Lainion. "Who _dared_ to threaten you…" he trailed off then, his eyes widening once more as he turned straight to Amareth. "It was the same one, wasn't it? The same elf that told the _queen_ … who?" he whispered, before shouting loud enough to make them all jump. " _Who!_ "

"Lainion," warned Erthoron.

"We do not know their names but they were Sindarin. They said they spoke for many at court, that a royal bastard would not be tolerated…"

"Bandorion's followers, I would wager on it," said Tirion urgently. "This is, unexpected. Perhaps we should…"

" _Never!_ " growled Lainion. "Now, more than _ever_ ," he emphasised, "I am determined to do what is right for the boy. We cannot cage him in, we cannot stunt his destiny. This must end, and it ends with the truth. No sooner we are on the road and I tell him. Aradan will see to the rest." He would brook no argument it seemed and Tirion nodded curtly. Amareth, however, was awash in tears.

"They will find him, hunt him down and take him from me. They are powerful Sinda, they are capable of _anything_ …" she babbled miserably.

"Amareth. The king, too, is powerful. We must wait for his reaction to this for as far as he is concerned, his child is in Aman, with Lassiel."

She looked sharply up at him, her eyes wide. She seemed to calm a little then, before an expression of hopelessness fell over her pretty face. "When he hears of what really happened, he will fade, Lainion. He will weaken and they will take advantage. They will place Bandorion on the throne as they have ever wanted to do. When they hear of Legolas, they will bless their luck and then kill my son - the perfect culmination to their plans."

"That is a possibility, Amareth. But think of this. The king may not react as you say. He may take an interest in his son. Not all the Sindar at court are disloyal to Thranduil, the majority are with him. It is the _Silvan_ people who float in the middle of this, and Amareth… do you not see? Do you

 _all_ not see? Legolas is the _Silvan_. He has already won them over and will only become stronger in their eyes. This may be enough to avoid Bandorion's followers from threatening his life for if they do, the Silvan people would not tolerate it and that - is not in Bandorion's interests…"

Tirion, Amareth and Erthoron stared at the Avari for long moments, before the village leader finally broke the silence.

"Well reasoned, Lieutenant. Well reasoned indeed."

END OF PART TWO


	22. Who Am I?

PART THREE: To Imladris, and the Truth

Author's notes:

Hello again everyone. Well, part three is here, and I have a few things to explain. This will be the final part of this story, in which finally, the truth will be revealed. This chapter is a lead up to that truth, which will, at least partially, come to fruition in chapter twenty-three. So, those of you who are now thoroughly frustrated with me, will be rewarded very soon now.

I must say that the following three chapters have been a challenge to my writing, and I am wondering whether I have been able to show my readers exactly what was in my head. Therefore, I would especially appreciate your comments, be they good or not so good.

As The Company is slowly becoming what it is in Arcane Land, I will be using warrior names more frequently. I have, therefore, included a quick reminder below, of who is who, not only of The Company, but of all my ever increasing OCs!

Finally, thank you to all those who took the time to review, and to my guest reviewers.

List of characters:

The Silvan / Legolas / Hwindohtar (The Whirling Warrior) - Legolas

Idhren / Idhreno / Idhrenohtar (The Wise Warrior)

Ram en Ondo (Wall of Stone)

Lainion / Dimaethor / Dima (The Silent Warrior)

Carodel / Lindo / Lindohtar (The Bard Warrior)

Amareth - Legolas' aunt

Lassiel - Legolas' mother

Erthoron - Village leader (Broadtree)

Golloron - Spirit Herder of Broadtree

Thavron - Chief Forester of Broadtree

Lorthil - Village leader

Narosén - Spirit Herder

Prince Handir - second son of Thranduil

Prince Rinion - heir to the throne of Greenwood

Councillor Aradan - Chief Councillor to Thranduil and childhood friend

Guard Captain Celegon - Sindarin Lord, Captain of the Guard

Lieutenant Galadon - Sindarin lieutenant to Captain Celegon

Silor - veteran Sindar warrior, aspiring to Lieutenant

Chapter twenty-two: Who Am I?

Autumn sunlight filtered through the green leaves of a flet high above the forest floor, cradled in the arms of a mighty tree, a sentinel, Legolas knew.

Funny, how pain comes in different rhythms and tones and today, it was a slow, deep thud, the type that comes after a night of Silvan reverie.

Comfort too, came in grades, but this morning, there was none to be had. It was as if there were nothing below him, and yet the three points of pressure he could feel upon his body were - hard and unyielding, sticking into his skin painfully.

Raising his heavy head for a moment, he realised he lay draped over a set of intertwined branches, just above the area he was supposed to have slept. He vaguely remembered having climbed to see the autumn stars. It was there, that he had fallen asleep.

He wore only his leggings and one boot, for the other had dropped into the living quarters of the flet below. He had also managed to retain one vambrace, but the other hung from his wrist by its strings, swaying mockingly in the light morning breeze.

Turning his head, he winced as his hair tugged painfully and he realised it had all come undone, only to snag in the finer twigs and drying leaves.

He wanted to laugh, and then he wondered if it was his own sense of humor, or that of the sentinel.

He knew he would never be able to free himself on his own. He would have to call for help, but that was not going to happen, said Legolas to himself, for he would surely be the laughing stock of the village.

The night had been long and oh so memorable. He had become a warrior in every sense, and a master archer too. He turned his head as far as he could, smiling when the silver arm band came into view, sitting now upon his strong, naked bicep.

His smile soon disappeared though, when his scalp was jolted painfully and he yelped, and although he had not moved, his hair was now, mysteriously free, falling around him almost to the floor beneath him. Smiling, he realised it was time to climb down.

With a groan, he slowly made his way to the platform below and stretched his sore muscles. It was then, that hysterical laughter cut into his fogged senses and he turned in irritation to the source of the noise.

There, sitting cross legged before a pot of steaming tea, were Idhreno, Ram en Ondo, Lindohtar and Dimaethor. They laughed and laughed and slapped each other upon the thighs and backs, their shoulders shaking and their eyes crinkled shut, tears of mirth collecting in the corners of their sparkling eyes.

Legolas, or Hwindohtar, opened his mouth to protest, but no words were forthcoming and he reckoned he should first seek out a mirror, or a still pool, for he was surely a sight that merited such mirth.

He smiled, in spite of his thumping head and resisted the urge to run his archer's fingers through his hair, for it was surely the source of their shenanigans.

"You're only jealous," he murmured as he joined them upon the wooden flooring, reaching out as a cup of steaming tea was handed to him.

"Your hair is, indeed glorious, Hwindo - but not today!" finished Ram en Ondo in a strangled voice that turned into peels of laughter once more, enough to send the four of them back to their raucous laughing.

"There was a young Silvan of pure white skin and white golden locks, as long as the maidens of Great Rock Locks…" the tune was vibrant and undoubtedly Silvan - Lindohtar…"

"He could pack a bottle of wine faster than an aunt of mine…"

They laughed as the Bard Warrior sang on, witty words invented on the spot, until finally he came to the end of his tune and was rewarded by whistles, whoops and clapping, and even Hwindohtar was now grinning as he sipped on his steaming tea.

"Well you _will_ insist on sleeping under the stars," said Idhreno drolly.

The tea was doing wonders for his pounding head and his body soon relaxed, in spite of the cold chill.

"What is our agenda for today, Dimaethor?" asked Legolas quietly, his eyes slightly unfocussed.

"We do not have one," said the Silent Warrior. "Today we are free for whatever we wish. We leave tomorrow and will be abroad for at least six months - some of you will have personal matters to attend to."

"I must bid my sister goodbye," said Lindohtar a little sadly. "We are alone in this world and I would ensure she is well provided for before my departure. I will be back for the evening meal, and briefing," he said seriously.

"And you, Hwindohtar? What would you do?" asked Dimaethor.

"I must think," he said absently. The answer was not what Dimaethor had been expecting and so his eyes settled on his young charge expectantly.

"Dima, there are many things I wish to do. I have ideas to write, books to read. I cannot march into Imladris ignorant, and with barely devised plans."

"What plans do you speak of?" asked Idhrenohtar.

"For the future. Ideas on warfare, combat, strategy. Ideas even on armour and weaponry, protocols …"

Ram en Ondo chuckled but Dimaethor and Idhrenohtar's faces were deadly serious.

"Why would you think on such things? You speak as would a commander general, one to takes such decisions. I understand your thirst for knowledge on warfare and strategy, but - why not stick to what affects you directly? To the things you will need to know as a warrior?" said the Silent Warrior.

Legolas turned his eyes upon his friend then, and a soft smile graced his lovely face. "That is what I do, Dima."

Lain ion was taken aback for a moment, and his puzzlement was clear for all to see.

Idhrenohtar though, had known Legolas all his life, as had Ram en Ondo. The Wise Warrior knew exactly what Legolas meant. He meant that one day, he would be a commander of warriors and, perhaps, would be able to contribute actively to such questions. Legolas had ideas on practically everything that warriorship entailed, and he also knew his friend kept an extensive journal, in which he would write his ideas on training programmes, render sketches of weapons, clothing, flets and wagons; all these words and illustrations dotted the pages of this most fascinating of books; there were even drawings of people, accompanied by comments and impressions. Indeed he knew himself to be amongst those pages, his warrior name written in slanted Tengwar and beside it - the words 'wise, knowing…" he smiled for a moment, before pulling his mind back to the present.

"Then think you must," said Dimaethor. "I have nothing of import to do," he said, but almost before he could finish his sentence, a softly spoken question took him completely by surprise, sending the small group of warriors into utter silence.

"Lainion. Who is Lassiel?"

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Legolas had said his goodbyes to Thavron and Erthoron, but it was his farewell with Amareth that stuck stubbornly in his mind.

At the time he had explained it away as the logical reaction of a mother to her recently promoted warrior son. She worried for his safety and that was to be expected. Yet now, as he sat and pondered it, her reaction had seemed, uncharacteristic, as if she thought perhaps, that she would not see him again.

And strangely enough, even Lainion seemed distracted, as if he sat upon the edge of a seat, undecided as to when he should stand. Something was wrong with the lieutenant, but Legolas was still not close enough to him to intrude upon his intimacy. He would simply have to wait for an opportunity to present itself.

Legolas distractedly browsed the pages of his journal, stopping here and there to remember the faces he had drawn and the words he had scrawled upon the yellow pages. Thavron, Amareth, Idhreno, Ram en, Lorthil, Narosén, Sarodel and his child, Tirion, Lainion. On the penultimate page though, was the face of one he did not know, the face of a Sindar lord that had stared at him from afar on the night he had became a novice warrior….

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

"Prince Handir departs at first light, my Lord. Will you fare him well?"

"Of course," came the monotone answer, soft and apparently unconcerned.

"With both princes abroad, my Lord, I have asked Colophon to assist us, if that is acceptable?"

"It is," came the equally unemotional response.

"Very well my Lord," said Aradan, hesitating for a moment, before turning, and leaving the introspective king to himself and his thoughts.

The heavy oak door clunked shut and Thranduil closed his brilliant blue eyes for a moment, before opening them once more and turning to the window behind him.

Autumn was advancing and with every day the weather became colder and the landscape waxed brown and grey - so like himself - he mused. Cold and grey, withered and exhausted - alone.

His sons were gone - everyone had gone - and he remained, rolling as would a boulder with the inertia of an empty life, one that made no sense except to administer the land his father had colonised and then left in his care. It was his only motivation to continue on Arda. It _was_ enough, but he was profoundly unhappy.

To his three children on Arda, he meant nothing, their respect for him fuelled only by his status as King. He had lost them in all the ways that matter, their regard for him spanning from civil to downright cruel. Any attempt he had once made to explain, to show his love for them had been counteracted by their disappointment in him and the absence of their mother - an absence he had precipitated with his disloyal conduct, his cruelty to the elf he had taken as his queen.

Nay he had lost them, and his only hope for happiness was when he finally stepped upon blessed soil and kissed the hand of Lassiel and, perhaps, the child they had created together, the one that had served to save her life, to deliver her into the healing lands of Elvenhome.

How long would he have to wait? How long before he could allow himself to disconnect from Arda, leave behind his children, and set sail?

But he could not, for however much they reminded him every day of his own sins, of what he had done to them, he could never leave them behind. He could never do what the queen had done. There was nothing on Arda that could move him to sever his connection with his children.

He looked down for a moment, his nostrils flaring subtly for a moment before raising his eyes once more, only to settle upon a small book, sitting between two larger tomes upon a dark, dusty bookshelf.

Slowly, he moved towards it, his hand reaching out tentatively until his fingers brushed over the small, weathered book. His index finger hooked over the top and softly pulled it out, until it finally rested in his white, manicured hands.

He looked away for a moment, but his eyes were drawn back to the diary, and with a heavy breath, he opened it.

There, upon the ancient paper, was a drawing, one he himself had rendered, partially obscured by a summer leaf, one that was now brown and crisp. It had once been a supple, vibrant green - just like her eyes.

As he finally allowed himself to admire the features that had mesmerised and captivated him since he had first set eyes upon them, tears welled in his own burning eyes and his heart clenched painfully. One shaking hand reached out to trace the outline of the face, the wave of chestnut locks, the slant of her extraordinary green eyes, the strong brow and the high cheekbones.

"My _queen_ ," whispered Thranduil shakily, his finger now brushing softly over the full pink lips, marvelling for a moment at the characteristic shape of them. "Will I ever see you again?" he whispered wistfully, a lone tear finally escaping him. It burnt a trail down his pale face, like the shallow cut of a sharp blade, the one that stabbed him in the heart every day when he thought of her.

He closed the book with a harsh thud and strode to the shelf once more, replacing the diary in its almost hidden home.

Turning, his face was stern once more, the tear swiped away angrily as he came to stand before the overhang of his rooms.

The Evergreen Wood rolled away into the distance, its beauty calming his grief enough to make it bearable once more. His head cocked to the side of a sudden, for there was a song on the air. Concentrating, he tried to discern the feelings it evoked for only in that way could he understand the trees.

Pity, sorrow, forgiveness, understanding, trepidation. _Trepidation?_ He repeated to himself.

Furrowing his brow in concentration, he tried again. The same emotions came through clearly but there was more…

Trepidation, and an overwhelming sense of bliss - why would they sing such a thing? Their land was assailed by darkness, their people and the trees suffered and died. Why would they sing of bliss? It was surely offensive.

Patience, understanding, reprimand, _joy_ …

He shook his head in frustration, but tried one more time, for now, Thranduil's curiosity had been peaked - what were they trying to say? Were they mocking him for his moment of self-pity?

Fool, grief, pride, victory, Lord…

"What…" he said aloud. Striding to the door, he opened it.

"Aradan!" he shouted, before turning back into the room and to the window, trying one more time to understand the strange strong of the Evergreen Wood.

"Patience, pride, courage, Lord - Lord of the Forest."

Thranduil's eyes bulged. Did they speak of him? Had they called him Lord of the Forest?

"My Lord," hailed Aradan as he entered slowly, concern written on his face for Thranduil had not shouted in many, many years.

"Aradan. Do you hear the trees?" asked the king urgently.

"Not as well as you do, my Lord." said Aradan carefully, trying and failing to read the conflicting emotions on his monarch's face.

"But do you _hear_ them?" he shouted in frustration, and all Aradan's senses were alert. Thranduil never lost control, never shouted, never - expressed deep emotion, be it good or bad. Whatever had happened must have been - transcendental.

"I hear them, but I do not know what they say, my Lord."

"I will tell you what they say, Aradan," whispered Thranduil, his eyes glinting in the failing light, a look so intense on his face that Aradan shivered.

"They speak of joy, of bliss, they speak - of a new Lord; one they have named as their own."

Aradan's eyes widened of their own accord, before he found the wherewithal to ask the first of many questions that had jumped into his mind.

"A new lord? What does that mean - there is danger? Someone seeks to overthrow you, what…"

"No!" shouted Thranduil again, ripping his intricate crown off his silver locks and placing it unceremoniously on his table. "Not a usurper, a Lord, a Lord of the _Forests_ …"

Aradan straightened, the skin of his scalp tightening painfully and sending his ears to sitting low on his head. ' _please_ ,' he pleaded, to the Valar perhaps, 'please give me time, two days - only _two days_.'

The king's unnerving eyes were now riveted on Aradan and the king almost rounded on his Chief Councillor, until his furious face was but inches from his own.

The cold, blue-grey eyes narrowed until the king finally spoke.

"Tell me what you know, Councillor. Tell me _everything_ you know."

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Meanwhile, deep in the forests, a young elf stared into the still waters of a rocky pool. Upon his face was shock, terror and panic, all of which had set his lip to quivering, his breathing harsh.

'Who am I? he pleaded into the water. 'What is _happening_ to me?' he pleaded.

 _Servant of Yavanna, Kementari._

The words were clear in his mind. This time there was no confused noise, just plain Silvan dialect.

He closed his eyes in a vain attempt to steady himself but he could not, and he opened them once more, his stomach flipping once more when his own green eyes shone back at him, not because they reflected the light of the moon, but because they shone from within - there was a fire behind his eyes.

'This is not natural. It is _wizardry_ … I have been spelled….' he whispered, his eyes widening in realisation.

'Not magic, _energy_.'

'Who are you?' whispered Legolas, although he thought, perhaps, he already knew the answer.

But there was no answer, for whatever the nature of his connection to the trees, it had never worked as a dialogue, but a monologue - it was always himself who answered his own questions. Indeed not moments later, he did just that.

'I am Legolas, Hwindohtar, the Silvan. I am the _forest_ …'


	23. Catharsis

Author's notes: The time has come, my friends. This chapter was difficult to write and I would really, really appreciate your feedback on it. I have also made it slightly longer, and that was because I really didn't feel like leaving you guys with a cliff-hanger, that would have been too cruel.

As always, thank you to everyone who reviews this story. Rita Orca, thank you, guest 1345 and Ninde, gracias por los ánimos, y ¡en español! There are still quite a few chapters to go but this is the last chunk of it. Whether the story continues will be entirely up to you.

Chapter twenty-three: Catharsis

"Tell me everything you know …," said the king, his keen eyes boring into those of Aradan, sparkling with a depth that only time and suffering can cause.

Aradan's agile mind spun furiously. He would not lie to his king, his friend, but neither could he reveal more than strictly necessary, not until Handir's caravan was safely at the borders.

"All I know, my Lord, is that the Silvans are whispering."

"Whispering?" asked the king a little sarcastically, "whispering of what?"

"I am not sure, as yet. It is not something that has transcended to the court proper, my Lord, but there is movement of some kind."

"The trees proclaim a _Lord!_ " exclaimed the king, as if Aradan had not yet realised the import of what he had heard.

"Then they know more than _I_ do, my Lord." Aradan's voice had come out more aggressively than he had wanted it to, a testimony to the stress he suffered, for the time for truth was almost upon them. He _did_ know of what they spoke, although proclaiming Legolas as a Lord was, indeed, something he could never have imagined; he desperately needed news from Lainion and Handir, but that would take days to get back to him, there would be no help from whatever they could tell him.

Thranduil held his gaze for a while, before turning abruptly and facing the window once more in a flurry of silken robes.

"Forgive me, Thranduil. As soon as I have something to tell you, I will."

"It is something of import, Aradan, there can be no mistake about that."

"Do you perceive a threat, my Lord?"

" _They_ do not perceive it as such, no. They rejoice…" he said with a frown and Aradan could see the puzzlement, his struggle to understand the cryptic message from the trees. It was the first event for centuries, that had managed to wrench from the frozen king a reaction, an emotional reaction that told Aradan in no uncertain terms that he was, still alive.

"I will ride out tomorrow if you wish it, my Lord, ride into the nearby Silvan villages and speak to my contacts, see what I can ascertain."

"I will come with you," was the king's answer, and Aradan hid his sudden alarm. The king had not ridden out of the fortress for many years. He needed to proceed with caution, for Thranduil was nothing if not intuitive.

"If that is your wish, Thranduil, your company would be most welcome," he said carefully. "And, I believe, our people will be glad of your presence amongst them once more - it has been too long since the Silvan people had contact with their king."

While the prospect of riding with Thranduil made him beyond nervous, it was secondary to the joy he felt at the reaction the king was showing. He was alive once more and although Thranduil was still unaware of the nature of the trees' disturbance, it told Aradan one very important thing; the king was still strong, still commanding. He would need that strength now, thought the councillor, for the extraordinary things that were to come. Only two more days, he thought and his stomach lurched in dread and trepidation.

But then, it occurred to him that this, unexpected development was not a bad thing, in fact it was, perhaps, a blessing in disguise.

"I will arrange a small escort for us, then. It will be like the times of old, when you and I travelled abroad - do you remember, Thranduil? Do you still remember the joy of those days?"

Turning from the hypnotic view of the Evergreen Wood, Thranduil approached his friend. "Yes I remember, Aradan. I remember _everything_ , my friend."

And Aradan did not doubt the king's words. He never had.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Celegon, Captain of the Guard, a Sindar warrior lord who had followed King Oropher into the lands of the Silvan and claimed them as his domain. To Lord Celegon's mind, Oropher had been the paradigm of a Sindar king; strong willed, a fine pikeman and excellent strategist.

Oropher had also been an extraordinarily fair elf, indeed he had had his share of the many admirers he had boasted. Celegon smiled at the memory of the fiery, unpredictable king; arrogant and regal, strong and commanding, incorrigible lover and ruthless commander - a mischievous child when in the company of his friends. How he missed him and he wondered if, some time in the distant future, he would see that extraordinary elf once more.

They had been riding for two days now and so far, there had been no sign of the enemy. True their warriors had been clearing the path for weeks now, and they seemed to have done an admirable job.

The autumn chill was complemented perfectly with a blue sky and a brilliant sun that warmed their backs as they rode. It was invigorating weather and Celegon hoped it would stay that way. It was, perhaps, wishful thinking though, for they would take another ten days to reach Imladris, that if the enemy left them to their own devices, and there was still Caradhras which lay ominously between them and the lands of the Noldor.

Together with Celegon at the fore, rode his trusted lieutenant Galadon - fierce in battle and loyal of heart. To his other side rode Sîlor, an experienced Sindar warrior who aspired to the grade of Lieutenant. They three were, perhaps, the oldest of all the elves on this journey, Celegon mused sadly. So much battle meant that the average Greenwood warrior was much, much younger than in the other elven realms; so few of them remembered the old days, the days of splendour.

Behind them rode ten experienced warriors, clad in ceremonial uniform as was befitting a royal caravan. Most of them were Sindar, although there were two or three Silvan warriors too, Celegon reminded himself with a mental scowl. His scowl deepened though, when he thought on the four recently promoted warriors, all of them Silvan. Why he had allowed Commander Hûron to talk him into it he could not say. It was fair, he supposed, for the boys had to learn, but did they really have to be Silvan village boys?

At least, he convinced himself, one of them was reported to be an excellent warrior, already a master of the bow and grudgingly, Celegon allowed a fleeting moment of respect for the lad. It was a great deed to have a weapons grade so early in one's career and he briefly regretted not having insisted on meeting them before their departure.

In the middle of their caravan, rode Prince Handir. This prince was not a warrior and Celegon did not think this right at all. All Sindarin princes should be warriors, he thought. Theirs was the onus of protecting their people, of commanding them. It is what Crown Prince Rinion would, perhaps, one day do, if he could curb his wayward temper that is.

King Thranduil had allowed his children the freedom of choosing their paths, except for Rinion who he had, in all but words, commanded become a warrior. A wise move, for Handir had chosen the path of politics.

It was just as well, he said to himself, for the prince was of a much quieter nature than his fiery brother. Not meek, as such, but he had that intellectual air about him that Celegon could not quite understand. He was more like Thranduil was now, he supposed, where Rinion, with some notable exceptions, was more akin to his grandfather.

Whichever the case it was Celegon's solemn duty to protect his prince, and that he would do unto the loss of his own life. The Captain of the Guard was a born warrior, just like his father, and his grand-father before him, just like his brother had been ….

The brief thought of his dead brother made him lose track of his thoughts and so he stopped, stopped thinking, for that memory was not welcome.

"Galadon, thirty minutes break. Set an honour guard for our Prince."

"My Lord," saluted Galadon, holding up his arm in a signal to the troop behind him to stop, before wheeling his horse around and issuing his orders.

"Oh good, my backside is completely numb," protested Ram en Ondo, resisting the urge to rub the sore muscles.

"You are so heavy, I am sure your horse is in more need of a hot bath than you are."

"Shut it, Lindo, at least I have some meat on me - the girls like that you know…"

" _Quiet!"_ shouted Sîlor as he strode past them and making them jump, wrenching some wicked snickers from the warriors around them. "Ram 'en, Idhren, go for water, and you, three hearths for the troop," he said to Legolas without stopping, without even establishing eye contact.

Soon, the troop sat at three different fires, and it was not chance that had divided them into their groups. The Sindarin warriors, the Silvan warriors and finally, the newly appointed warriors.

"They treat us like kitchen scullies, said Lindohtar with a scowl as he watched the Sindar over the brim of his hot tea.

"Aye, they do not trust us, that much is clear," added Legolas as he stirred his own hot brew.

"I cannot blame them for that," said Idhrenohtar. "It is for us to prove ourselves, no doubt."

"True," said Legolas. "But they make no effort to teach us. We are new to this and they are not. Our purpose on this mission is to learn, or so we have been told. I do not agree with their protocols so far."

"In a perfect world Legolas, yes you are right," answered Idhrenohtar. "But look at them. They are so caught up in their inborn prejudice to those of us who have always dwelled in Thranduil's woods - before they were his. They do not trust us, but more than this we are _Silvan_ …" he emphasised before sipping from his tea.

From afar, the Sindarin warriors watched in interest as Lainion joined the new recruits. They whispered amongst each other and Legolas thought them most rude. Lainion, however, was unphased as he sat on the ground beside them.

"So, you are discussing the social complexities of the Greenwood?" he asked rhetorically, with a sly smile on his face.

"That we were," said Ram en Ondo, shifting his weight on the floor.

"Get used to it," he said flatly. "Remember our first incursion into the South, Legolas? This is no different. Once they have fought together with you, it will become bearable if you comport yourselves well in battle."

"You sound as if you accept this attitude as natural," said Legolas softly.

"I do - it is," said Lainion.

"Perhaps you should not," said Legolas flatly, knowing he had potentially overstepped his boundaries.

Lainion however, simply held Legolas' gaze for a while before speaking once more. "You are an idealist, Legolas. It would take a lot to change this culture, it is ingrained on us all, although on some more than others."

Legolas did not answer him but he did nod his understanding, and the silence stretched on for a little longer than was strictly comfortable.

"Well, I must return to my Prince. Stay out of trouble, brothers, and do not antagonise them," he signalled with his head. "Patient, humble and intelligent is always your best bet, word of an Avarin lieutenant!" he said brightly with a smile, thus dissipating the strange tension that had settled upon them.

Smiling, Lainion left The Company and Idhreno leaned forward, his eyes boring into those of Legolas. "You walk on a fine line, Legolas. Lainion is our superior."

"Yes. But he is not our commanding officer on this journey. I would never disrespect my commanding officer, or indeed any warrior of my king's army, but here, in the privacy of our hearth, he is Dimaethor of The Company."

It was a bold statement, and the silence that followed Legolas' words were testimony to that.

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Thranduil had dressed simply, but there was no hiding the quality of of his garments. His silver blond hair shone in the midday sun and for the first time in many centuries, the king seemed alive, seemed to _feel_ once more. Funny, mused Aradan, that it would be him to push that to the very limits of what his friend could withstand. Tomorrow, perhaps if all went well today.

He had not wanted to stop the king from riding out with him. His suggestion for himself to ride out had been a subterfuge at first, to buy himself some needed time, but when he thought about it, there was much merit to what they did now. It would be a gentler way of introducing the subject, a perfect way of showing the king what merits there could be, the advantages to be had of what would, otherwise, be a heart-wrenching reality.

Two guards rode behind them. There was no need for more, for they were travelling to the villages in the immediate area. There were no enemies where they were headed and it would do his friend good to be hailed, for the people to show their appreciation of him as their monarch, to show them they had not been forgotten by their Sindarin king.

And so the day passed, sometimes in pleasant silence and others, when Thranduil would ask and Aradan would answer. They spoke of the people, of their wants and desires, of their complaints, of the growing rift between Sindar and Silvan cultures and about what, perhaps, could be done to stop the downward spiral.

Soon enough, it was time to turn back else they would not arrive at the stronghold before darkness fell, but Thranduil surprised him once more.

"No, let us spend the night under the stars, Aradan. Just this one night of peace…"

"My lord," began one of the warriors, but Thranduil held up his hand for silence. It had been decided, and much against the better judgement of the guards, king and advisor would spend the night as once they had, many many years ago.

Aradan could think of no better time than now, and so, with the excuse of fetching water, the advisor took his moment away from the king to forewarn the guards, not of what he would say, but that there would be moments of tension and that they were not to intervene. Needless to say they did not doubt Aradan's intentions and so, although puzzled at the councillors words, they retreated into the trees. They would not intervene unless the king's life was in danger.

He could not believe his luck, but even so, his stomach flipped and his chest tightened for the enormity of what he would now do, would test even his ability as a master of the spoken word. But more than this it would test his heart, for Thranduil was dear to him - how paradoxical that he of all people, would now break it…

' _Lainion, Handir, wherever you are. Luck, my friends - for the Greenwood…'_

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"Here, clean these," said Sîlor, throwing the slippery fish at Legolas' feet before turning to Idhreno. "Can you cook, boy?" he said flatly.

"Yes, Sir," said Idhreno evenly, his mounting irritation well hidden behind his mask of discipline.

"When they are ready, bring them to the tent for our prince and his escort."

"Yes, Sir," said the Wise Warrior once more, bowing before turning to Legolas and helping him with the preparation.

"Something like this happened to me in the South, Idhreno," began Legolas. "I cleaned, skinned and boned the fish, steamed them over an infusion of tea, rosemary and dill, and then served the fragrant fillets over a bed of pureed roots and honey…"

Idhreno's eyes were wide as his tongue came out to lick at his lips.

"Well, what happened?"

"They were impressed," said Legolas cockily and Idhreno laughed. "Then let's do it! Ram en, find roots, rosemary, dill, tea - what else?" asked a now enthusiastic Idhreno.

"Honey, don't forget the honey - Lainion may be able to help with that, or our field healer," suggested Legolas, and in a flash, Ram en was away with a purpose.

"Well," said Idhreno with a smile as they set to work on the fish. "If this doesn't work, nothing will!"

"It will take more than this, Idhreno, but it is a start; a statement of goodwill…"

"Aye," said Idhreno with a smile, and a respectful nod at his friend.

Some time later, the Sindar troop watched in awe as Legolas, Idhreno, Ram en and Lindo prepared four plates of steaming, fragrant fish. Their eyes twinkled in the dark and not a word escaped them as they watched and marvelled at the four young warriors with a flare for cooking they had rarely seen on the road. There was no mocking laughter, no snide whispering, only curiosity.

Soon, the four boys stood, each with a plate in their hands, and made their way to the tent. The guard at the door raised his eyebrows, before turning to announce their presence. Gesturing for them to enter, they ducked and were soon before a makeshift table, in the centre of which was Prince Handir, flanked by Lord Celegon, Sîlor and Lainion, who visibly flinched when he caught sight of Legolas.

Placing the plates before the lords, the four friends stepped back and bowed formally. Three moved to leave the tent but hesitated when the fourth had frozen where he stood, his eyes latched onto the blue eyes of Prince Handir.

Lainion's heart raced as he tried and failed to catch Legolas' eyes. It was no good for they would not budge from those of his royal charge.

Luckily, it was Idrenho who pulled on Legolas' arm, snapping him out of the moment. It worked, and Legolas left with the rest, not before momentarily glancing at Lainion. Luck would have it though, that the commanders had not noticed, for they were too busy smelling the fine fare that had been served. Handir turned to Lainion, a warning in his eyes. _'_

 _Do it, and do it quickly…'_

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"Legolas, _Legolas!"_ hissed Idhrenohtar, "what is _wrong_ with you? Your first ever meeting with royalty and….."

"Stop! Stop it, Idhreno, do not _speak!_ " shouted Legolas and Idhrenohtar took a step backwards, for his friend had never spoken to him in that tone, not even when they had been children.

"What is wrong with you?" whispered Ram en Ondo, Lindohtar standing just behind him. Indeed it was Lindohtar who placed a calming hand on Ram en and Idhreno's shoulders.

"Peace, brothers. I rather think something of import has happened. Something we do not understand. Leave him be and calm yourselves."

"And what would _you_ know?" growled Ram en Ondo who, far from backing down, took a step towards the Bard Warrior.

"Sometimes, distance allows one to see things more clearly. I know nothing except what I can see, as plainly as I see you. Legolas?" he asked softly.

Glittering green eyes met Lindo's blue irises, a silent thank you in them and Lindo nodded.

"It was Prince Handir that I saw," he muttered, almost to himself.

"What?" asked Idhreno.

"On the night I was invested a novice warrior, I saw a Sindarin Lord from afar. Our eyes met and I rather thought it strange that a Lord should be present, one that looked a little like me. Yet in that tent, not four feet from him I see him clearly…. why …. why would a Prince of the Sindar seek me out…"

There was silence after that, for no one had an answer, yet neither did it seem so strange to them. Handir could have been in the neighbourhood, may have stopped to watch the ceremony.

"Perhaps you read too much in to this," said Ram en now, "why has this perturbed you so?" he asked softly.

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment. "I do not know, Ram en. Believe me I do not know but it unnerves me. I stood frozen before him and I cannot tell you why because I do not know."

Lenin cleared his throat and all four elves turned to meet him.

Lainion looked at them one by one, before ending with Legolas, who stared back at him with such intensity it made his heart skip a beat.

"Come," was all he said.

Soon, they all sat upon the banks of a nearby river where they would be free to speak. Lainion had secured their privacy for what he now had to do, something that would, he was sure, be the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

"I have something to say," began Lainion carefully, cringing almost at the pathetically inadequate words, but he pressed on.

"Idhreno, Ram en, Lindo, Hwindo. We are The Company, and as such, we face all adversities together. Now is such a time, when Legolas will need you to keep him focussed…"

They frowned, but said nothing, however the silence was broken by Legolas, whose breathing had become a little faster. He was terrified, realised Lainion, for something deep inside him had clicked when his eyes had fallen upon Prince Handir.

The others looked at Legolas and then back at Lainion, instinctively shuffling closer to their friend.

"Legolas. I know of your heritage and it is my duty to tell you now, to tell you all I know."

There, he had said it, there was no going back. Courage…

Idhreno hissed and Ram en swore in Silvan. Lindo remained silent though.

"Legolas. Would you hear what I have to tell you?" he asked slowly, his eyes searching Legolas' for signs of how to proceed.

He sat there, his face blank, as if he did not understand the question. But his rapid breathing gave him away.

"Of course," he said lightly, too lightly.

"Legolas. Do you want to know who your father is?"

"My father is dead," said Legolas with a short chuckle. "He is _dead_ , Lainion."

Lainion understood this, for it was easier for Legolas to understand his father's absence by thinking him dead. The alternative was to face the fact that he had been unwanted, abandoned.

"He is not dead, Legolas. He lives."

Legolas continued to stare back at him blankly, but the rest of the company clearly could not believe what Lainion was saying, for their eyes bulged and their nostrils flared, and they had moved to kneel now, for sitting upon the ground was proving too difficult for them, except for Legolas, who remained seated.

"Lainion, you don't understand," said Legolas, his voice so soft and sweet he sounded like a child once more, and Ram en Ondo's eyes filled with unshed tears.

"He's dead, Lainion. I have no father…"

"Everyone has a father, Legolas, and yours is alive."

"This cannot…" began Legolas, but Lainion held up his hand before speaking once more, his eyes darting for a passing moment to the others, a silent plea for help in his eyes.

"Legolas. Believe me, please. There is no mistake. I know, without the slightest shadow of a doubt, who your father is."

Silence, and Legolas shifted upon the ground so that he too, knelt upon his knees, his shaking hands resting lightly on his thighs. It was something, mused Lainion, a reaction at least and not the frozen disbelief of just moments before.

"You will tell me then," that voice again, so soft, so vulnerable and Lainion resisted the urge to embrace him, run his hand over his hair and kiss his forehead but he could not. Now was a time for strength - there would be comfort enough to be had later.

Silence now descended upon the small group of warriors and Lainion lent forward until he could almost reach out and touch the child's face.

"Legolas, your father - your father is Thranduil, king of Greenwood the Great."

Ram en cried out, before slapping his hand across his mouth. Idhreno gasped and Lindo sat frozen in shock, but Legolas stared back at Lainion, his eyes bright and round. And then he chuckled.

"Legolas," said Lainion.

"Thranduil…" repeated Legolas, before chuckling again and Lainion liked it not.

"Legolas, your father is Thranduil."

The boy would have laughed once more, but Lainion suddenly cupped his cheek, startling him into silence.

"Child. You are Thranduil's son, a son he had with a Silvan woman, outside the sanctity of marriage."

The transformation was quick, but not quick enough to miss. Round, shaking green eyes turned down, slanting dangerously and his lovely features hardened until they were ridges of pure stone. He sat ramrod straight of a sudden, his next words spat into the cold air, dripping with contempt and wrath.

"How _dare_ you…" he said quietly.

"I dare because it is true, and Prince Handir knows it. It is why he was there that day you became a novice. He too, could not believe what he had been told that very same day. His curiosity led him to seek you out."

"No," he said quietly, and Lainion wondered what it was he said 'no' to. To the fact itself, or the implications it brought with it.

"No!" he said louder now, his ire mounting and Ram en placed a comforting hand on his arm. Legolas, however, yanked his arm free of it and then stood, swaying slightly as the others stood with him, their stances now those of warriors on full alert.

"He would _not_! Our king would not - not," he swayed dangerously and then yelled at Idhreno who tried to steady him.

" _Leave me!_ " he shouted, and then fell awkwardly onto his backside. A tear escaped his furious eyes and he struggled to his feet once more.

"He would not do that. He is honourable, he…"

"Legolas. I have a long story to tell you, one that will help you to understand. But for now you must accept this one truth. It is true, child. Our king loved your mother beyond all rational thought and you are the consequence of that love, one that was never meant to be, could never be."

Lainion saw the moment the truth was finally granted access into his shocked mind, and watched in anguish as his charge struggled to accommodate it, for tears welled in his beautiful eyes and his face crumpled into a horrific mask of pure anger, grief, frustration and pity, self-pity. All those years of childish curiosity, and later, years of hatred and denial, followed by the partial acceptance of his illegitimacy and with it, his claims to no longer care who his father had been. It had all been strategy, a way to make his existence acceptable to his own mind. Lies, merciful lies because he _did_ care, it _was_ important; Lainion had always known that and it teared at his heart.

Throwing his head back, Legolas screamed his heart to the heavens, his voice hoarse and broken and when there was no breath left inside him he stopped and gasped for air.

Falling to his knees his head lowered and he grew silent once more, kneeling amongst his friends that dared not touch him. There was an air of volatility about him, and not even Lainion, with all his experience, dared approach him.

It was when Legolas raised his head once more, that Idhreno swore in Quenya and Ram en gasped, stepping backwards in utter fright. Lainion and Lindo crouched into a fighting stance, their shock and horror frozen on their faces and their hands grasping the hilt of their knives.

There, kneeling before them, was Legolas, his green irises so bright a mist had formed before them, partially obscuring his eyes, but not enough, for they saw that he wept, and in spite of their fright and horror, they did not run, not even when the trees began to groan and creak, and a strange wind began to blow through their boughs …


	24. Greenleaf

Author's notes: Well, I asked for feedback and I am delighted to have been overwhelmed by it. Thank you very, very much. It was great to hear from all those who have reviewed every single chapter, those that review from time to time to let me know they are still out there reading, and those of you that have reviewed for the first time. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. And of course to those guest reviews I cannot answer - thank you, especially Earthdragon, for the lovely review, and the very interesting theories… Ninde, eres una estrella!

In answer to your questions, there are still a good number of chapters to go, four or five, perhaps, so for now, settle in, for the tale continues, thanks to you all.

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Chapter twenty-four: Greenleaf

"Here," said Aradan as he handed a skin of wine to his friend. It had been centuries since Aradan had seen Thranduil like this, relaxed, sprawled against the trunk of a tree sipping wine. It was strange, for in spite of the strange message from the trees just the day before, the king seemed more alive than he had done in long long time, and despite the potential for political strife over the appearance of this, strange lord, he seemed - relaxed. Aradan could not quite fathom it, and so he proceeded with caution, as was befitting a Chief Councillor to a king.

"I have missed this," said the councillor.

Thranduil watched his friend and then smiled. "You are a good councillor, Aradan, but a better friend. I know of your sorrow these past years, I can see it in your eyes and I am sorry for that."

What miracle had brought this about Aradan could not rightly say. Aye Thranduil had a measure of skill as a listener of trees, just as his father had, but it was not comparable in any way, it would seem, to the abilities his Silvan son had developed. Nevertheless, what the king _had_ heard had been enough it seemed, to draw him out, at least enough to be here, as he was now, relaxed and reminiscent of bygone times. The king's grief was still there, in his eyes, firmly anchored behind the extraordinary blue grey eyes but something had been awoken.

"The trees have reached you in a way I have not been able," Aradan, hoping to prompt the king into a sustained conversation.

"Have I been that absent, my friend? Have I neglected my land so much?"

"Yes," said Aradan frankly. "I knew, I knew you were not, perhaps aware, but while you _have_ administered the lands you have not _ruled_ as such. One of the consequences is your uncle's rise in popularity, him and his vision of how this land should be ruled, a vision that is not yours, nor mine. He has taken advantage of your apparent, despondence."

"You believe his following has become - troublesome?" asked the king thoughtfully.

"Yes, although perhaps not to the point of no return. If we react now, it can be undone, at least so that it becomes - irrelevant."

"And what of the damage to my family, Aradan? I see Rinion every day, his descent into bitterness. His heart is still there but I cannot reach it."

"You have not _tried_ , Thranduil. You were too much inside yourself, inside your thoughts and emotions…"

"Wallowing in self-pity, you mean?"

"No, not that. I do believe you lost your self-esteem, somewhere along the line. True you have not tried to pull Rinion back, but neither has he tried to reach you. Handir, however, is different."

Thranduil smiled as he thought on his second son. "Yes, he is more like the queen, whereas Rinion is - he looks more like me, yet in character he reminds me so much of my own father."

"You are right in that, Thranduil. And yet Bandorion's influence on Rinion is worrying - it is turning him bitter - fuelling his negative emotions towards you. That too, needs to be addressed. He is a Captain, but if he continues in this way, Commander Hûron will never allow him to be anything more, all that he is Sindar."

Thrandui's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I did not know that…"

"It is not common knowledge, just comments here and there that have led me to believe this. I am close to Hûron, as you know. It is Handir that is progressing well. He has excelled in his calling as a statesman, and with Erestor's guidance in Imladris, you will have a valuable councillor at your side, Thranduil -he is a fine, loyal son."

Thranduil's eyes were far away, although he did smile at Aradan's praise of his second son.

"What are you thinking on?" asked Aradan softly, taking a swig of wine to quell his mounting nerves, his eyes searching his friend for any clues as to his mindset.

"Can you imagine, at all, Aradan? Can you read my thoughts?" asked the king wistfully, as if he were far, far away.

"I could guess…"

"And," prompted the king quietly, absently.

"You dwell on Lassiel …" said Aradan, resisting the urge to close his eyes. But then he realised he must have done, for when he opened them, Thranduil's face was before him, startling the advisor so that his breath caught in his throat.

"Aradan. I am king, I have a measure of ability with the trees and in these last centuries, I have listened to them more than I have to the elves that I dwell amongst. I cannot hear their words but I feel their emotions, sometimes better than others when they simply confuse me." He chuckled weakly then. "I often seek comfort in their song, for around me I find only suffering, and my own memories." His face turned back to Aradan then, and for a moment he seemed to feel pity for the councillor.

"Say what it is you have kept from me, Aradan, say what my heart already believes…"

Aradan, partially recovered from his shock, now furrowed his brows. Was Thranduil truly saying he had suspected them all this time? That he had an inkling as to the news Aradan would give him? It could not be, surely. Nay he would not make the mistake of believing Thranduil had even the slightest suspicion of the nature of it and so, he plunged into it head first, with the courage that was on the point of failing him.

"Thranduil. We believe Lassiel may be - may be _dead_ , my friend …"

Aradan watched his friend's face which was, as yet, as blank as it had been for many years, and for many moments it stayed that way, until the king looked to the floor, and then nodded his understanding. Rising to his feet slowly, he tilted his face to the full white moon, and for a moment allowed her soft rays to illuminate his face - a blank face that slowly turned to sadness, grief, and acceptance, and with this last emotion, his milky white skin regained its lost glory of elder days, his spirit shining a little stronger than it had just moments before. His words, when he finally did speak, were soft, yet they carried upon the air so clearly Aradan wondered if there was magic in them, if perhaps Thranduil had spelled them so that they would carry, as far away as she surely was now.

"Lassiel. Sweet Lassiel." Thranduil paused for a moment, surprised, thought Aradan, at the power that one name had when spoken aloud. "Do you rest in the arms of Mandos? Do you sleep in the gardens of Lorien? Do you dwell once more in the lands of the Valar? Will I ever see your face once more?"

Aradan's own eyes closed, and when he opened them once more the world was a blur and he blinked furiously. He had not expected this reaction from his friend, and he certainly had not expected Thranduil to have already suspected his lover was dead.

The king turned back to Aradan, his face no longer blank and rigid but pliant and expressive. "I have not felt her presence for seven hundred and thirty three years, Aradan, and although I hoped and prayed that it was my grief at her absence that sought to believe the worst of all the possibilities, now that you have told me - I know I was simply deceiving myself. I have been lost for all those years, lost in my endeavour to find her, to place her on the map of my imagination… Thank you for telling me," he said kindly, with a soft smile. "I know this must have been difficult for you to do, my friend. I have finally lost her, and the child we both thought would save her …."

Aradan's eyes widened for a moment, for he had not realised the king had come to that conclusion. Indeed he berated himself for not having clarified that point earlier.

"Thranduil. You may ask how I came about this knowledge…"

The king's head cocked to the side, and then he nodded.

"Lieutenant Lainion and Captain Tirion came to me after an incursion in the South, an incursion with the novices - remember the plan we devised?"

"I do, go on," said the king, sitting once more to listen to Aradan's tale.

"They came to me in confidence because one of those warriors had, inadvertently, drawn attention to himself. You may remember one day at the breakfast table with Rinion. We spoke of one they call The Silvan…"

"Aye, Rinion wanted to meet him."

"I could not allow that, Thranduil. That boy, that child has, or so they say, the face of a Sinda and the heart of a Silvan. Thranduil, his eyes are the brightest green I have ever seen, and his face - his face is that of your father's - he is your son, Thranduil, The Silvan is Lassion.."

Thranduil's eyes rounded and suddenly became too bright. His shock was not masked now as his jaw opened slightly, as if he would speak, but he did not and looked back to Aradan, as if pleading for him to anticipate the questions that would not leave his frozen mouth.

"The first thing I will say is that there can be no mistake. He is seven hundred and thirty-three years old, a newly appointed warrior and has lived all his life, until last year, in a village called Broadtree, under the tutorship of Amareth - sister of Lassiel…"

"What if he is Amareth's child? I mean…"

"No, by her own admission, this child is the son of Lassiel - she knows the truth but she has not disclosed Lassiel's fate, she will not speak of it."

There was shocked silence and still, Thranduil could not seem to form the words he needed for so many questions Aradan knew would be overwhelming him.

"Thranduil - do I stop or shall I continue?" Aradan needed a sign, a sign that the news was welcome else he give away too much."

"This is why you assume she is dead? Because the child is here on Arda?"

Aradan simply nodded and Thranduil looked away for a moment, before speaking once more.

"She would never have left him behind. She would not have done what the queen did to her own children," he mused quietly, before his face changed and the question was out of his mouth almost before he could consider it.

"What is his name?" asked the king softly.

Aradan smiled tentatively, the seed of hope starting to germinate in his mind. "Do you remember, that special day when you first told me of her? When we were both still so young and full of ideals? She had gifted you with one small thing, something I know you kept."

The king looked down for a moment, and Aradan knew the battle that waged in his friend's mind, only his iron will stilling the tears from falling.

"She remembered that, Thranduil. "It was the most precious thing to her I would wager, for she named her son after that one, small act, that proclamation of love for you…"

Thranduil smiled back at Aradan, through the silent tears that would no longer be restrained.

"Green leaf - she called him _Greenleaf…_ " whispered the King, and Aradan smiled.

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The blackness of night gave way to the deep blue of the sun's slow awakening. Not yet dawn, not quite time to return to their camp and their duties.

Legolas remained where he had fallen the night before, only now he sat cross-legged, his long hair falling around him, as if it could somehow shield him from the onslaught of his own emotions, or perhaps from the worried eyes of his friends.

Even now, he could not bring himself to remember the words, could not say the name of his father, his mother, not even in his own mind. He felt inadequate, unable to administer his own emotions, ashamed for not being able to hold his own, for being a weakling.

It was absurd and a part of him still could not grasp the truth, not entirely. Yet Lainion would not have told him this unless he had been sure. Indeed it all fit, and he thought back to the day they had returned from the South; the elf that had hailed him as 'Lord, or Narosén the Spirit Herder and his cryptic words, Lainion's friend Calen, who had assumed he was Lassiel's son. Lassiel, his _mother_ … And finally he thought back to the day he became a novice, to those blue eyes that had stared back at him in as much shock as he himself had felt - his _brother._

There was a battle raging in his mind. He knew the truth of it but he simply could not bring himself to believe it, to say it, to put it into words. He could not even fathom how he felt about it all.

He heaved a mighty breath and raised his head to the early morning light, his eyes still closed. It was cold, and that was the first thought that slowly, began to pull him from his introspection.

His muscles ached, his head felt too heavy and a dull ache pressed on the back of his neck, but he opened his eyes nonetheless, and then wondered what colour they would be, whether they still shone as if a demon were inside him. He had frightened them all, and then he mentally scoffed at himself and his stupid words. He had terrified _himself!_ He was still terrified…

Funny, he mused. For the first time in his life, that ever present question was no longer there, on his lips, in his mind, scratching at his heart.

'Who am I?'

He was Legolas, Legolas Lassion, bastard son of Thranduil.

His heart skipped and fluttered and he breathed through the odd rhythm until it beat steadily once more.

Looking around him now, he saw three elves, still asleep upon the ground, but Idhrenohtar knelt before him, watching quietly, silent save for the friendship that shone in his grey eyes.

Legolas could not speak, not yet.

His eyes strayed to the trees that surrounded them and he wondered what he would feel should he reach out and touch them. No, don't, he said to himself. Too many emotions, too much to feel. If he had learned anything at all about himself last night, it was that he was still a child in this one thing; he was still not able to completely control his emotions.

Turning back to Idhrenohtar, he wondered what his friend would be thinking now, now that he too, knew of his heritage, had seen the change in his eyes, had witnessed the complicity of the trees. Would they think it witchcraft? Would they think him unnatural? Would their attitude towards him change, now that they knew the truth?

Nay, he berated himself, not that, not The Company - _they,_ were his brothers, they were his true family, and as much as it irked him, he needed them now, would need them in the days to come. The task of facing this truth, and for others to know of it, seemed insurmountable. What was he to say? What was he at _liberty_ to say?

Ram en Ondo and Lindohtar stirred beside him, slowly sitting up and glancing at Legolas first, and then at Idhrenohtar, who had taken the last watch over their friend.

"We should return," said Idhrenohtar softly. "We must continue as if nothing has happened brothers. As far as everyone else is concerned and should the subject arise, Legolas has received some bad news from home. Later we will speak to Lainion and take things from there, one day at a time. Legolas?" he called, drawing his friend's eyes to his own, "one day at a time, alright?"

After a moment of silence, Legolas simply nodded, and then stood slowly, accepting Ram en Ondo's steadying hand, a silent apology in his eyes.

Their walk back to camp was equally silent, the air around them charged with apprehension and worry, and before anyone could notice, they were seated at their hearth, boiling water over a fire, watching as the rest of the troop slowly awoke and began to organise themselves.

"Idhreno," said Ram en Ondo, quiet and urgent, "Lainion must surely come soon. I have no idea what to say should any of last night's events transcend - they must have noticed the trees…" he said, watching as Lindo passed Legolas a steaming mug of tea.

Legolas accepted it quietly with a nod and clasped it in both hands, the heat no doubt a small comfort to his troubled mind.

"I hope you are right, Ram en," whispered Idhreno as he cast his eyes to the trees around them. "Caution brothers. We must shield him as best we can, give him some time to come to terms with his - heritage."

Lindo and Ram en nodded, but their faces were a mirror of their troubled minds. Legolas was a son of the king, and he had a gift none of them understood, one Legolas could not control.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Lainion would not see The Company until much later, for Handir had surprised him on his return to the royal tent.

Ducking his head inside, he had found Handir still awake, only partially visible in the weak light.

"Is it done?" asked the prince quietly.

Lainion approached and sat, and then ran a trembling hand over his face. "Forgive me, Handir. It was, _not_ as I had imagined… he is mature beyond his age in most things, but the news I gave him was hard for him to accept - made me remember how very young he still is." His voice had been thready and weak, but after what Lainion had just witnessed, he could not keep the weight of his emotions from spilling into his words.

"He is upset?" asked the prince.

"Yes - and furious - and then ashamed - so many things, Handir. But there is one thing I did not expect at all."

"What was that?" prompted the prince softly.

"His gift - it - manifested itself spontaneously - he must learn to dominate it - whatever it is. It is strong yet the nature of it is still not completely clear. He may well get himself into trouble if he does not control it."

"What happened? Surely it cannot…"

"It is," interrupted Lainion abruptly. "His eyes, Handir, his _eyes_ glowed like a thousand fireflies and it is terrifying," he whispered, his own frightened Avarin eyes glinted as they came to rest on Handir's. "Whatever it is, I am glad we travel to Imladris, for I fancy Elrond will be of some help."

"Perhaps," said Handir thoughtfully. "Yet we have not thought on what to say when he is recognized. When I saw him in the tent earlier, it was my grandfather staring back at me, Lainion. It is uncanny, and where we are headed, there will be no doubt at all in their minds as to his heritage."

"I know. I thought perhaps we could speak to Elrond on our arrival. Be honest with him, tell him this information has not yet transcended in the Greenwood - I am sure he would keep our best interests at heart."

"Aye, and Lord Erestor will be invaluable insofar as to what we should do, indeed if anything should be done. I will think more on it and we will speak again during our ride tomorrow. And, and Lainion?"

"Aye"

"You have done well. That must not have been easy."

Lainion stared back at his charge, his eyes steady and his jaw set. "It was not."

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTTSTSTSTSTSTS

He had fallen asleep, against his best efforts to remain awake. The wine and the stress of his conversation with the king had obviously taken a bigger toll on him than he had thought.

Rising slowly, he stretched his sore muscles and cast his eyes around the area where they had made their humble camp, spotting their two guards in the distance.

Thranduil, however, was nowhere to be seen and so Aradan picked up their packs and walked towards the guards, who saluted as he came to stand before them.

"The king?" he asked, to which they simply nodded in the direction he should take.

Soon enough, Aradan came to the banks of a small stream where a mighty willow arched over the slowly flowing water. Upon its bough, the king was perched. Aradan watched him for a moment, marvelling at the sight, for in spite of his plain riding clothes and loose silver-blond hair, he could never be mistaken for anyone other than what he was. A king.

Not wishing to interrupt, Aradan accommodated himself upon the loamy banks and waited patiently, plucking a stone and then turning it in his hands, the rhythmic action helping to quell his mounting anxiety.

"Aradan," acknowledged the king.

"Thranduil," answered the councillor as he tossed the stone into the water, listening for the hollow sound as it hit the water. He would wait, wait for the king to set the tone of their conversation now, for in all honesty, Aradan simply did not know what to expect.

"You must say goodbye now," said the king softly, and Aradan's heart dropped to the soles of his boots. 'What have we done,' he said to himself as he waited with baited breath for the king to continue.

"Your news has brought me closure, Aradan, an end to the torment of not knowing, because when you do not know you cannot accept, and if you cannot accept you grieve - is that not how it works?" he asked softly.

"It sounds reasonable," said Aradan, his breath oddly short as he answered.

"Now that I know, I can, perhaps, learn to accept - but only this; that we will be parted for many years to come, but that I will see her again for you see now - I know where to look…"

Aradan's mind echoed the king's words in his mind like a desperate mantra - ' _you must say goodbye…_ ' He was leaving then, leaving for Aman…

"Aradan. A part of her is still here, on Arda. You must say goodbye now, goodbye to a grieving king - he has gone …"

Aradan watched with round eyes as the king gracefully descended the tree and walked slowly yet purposefully towards him and for a moment Aradan thought he moved too slowly, yet before he could blink once more, the king was almost upon him.

"He has gone … and in his place is Thranduil, king of Greenwood the Great, father of Maeneth, Handir, Rinion and - Greenleaf."

Aradan's skin prickled uncomfortably and he gasped at the sudden sensation, and then furrowed his eyes as his mind slowly processed the implications.

"You are staying? You are back?" he whispered in awe.

"Aye, Aradan. I am back," and when the king answered him, his voice was strong and vibrant. His eyes were no longer unfocussed and distant, dull and crushingly sad. Gone was the hunched posture, the distracted answers, the despondence. This king was tall, and strong, proud and wise. This king had a purpose once more, and for all Aradan tried, with all his might, he could not avoid the radiant smile that blossomed on his face, nor the words that tumbled from his mouth.

"The Valar be praised, Thranduil. The Valar be praised."


	25. Woodcraft

Author's note: once again, thank you all very much for your continued support, and all those guests that I cannot answer personally but wish I could. On with the story, and a little action if it pleases you.

Chapter twenty-five: Woodcraft

They had saddled up and moved out at first light, and now, the royal caravan maintained a steady trot through the foothills of Caradhras, which loomed before them ominously, resting from the otherwise jolly disposition of the troops. The temperature was plummeting and by the evening, it was freezing cold. Their joy was silenced, turning now to a higher level of diligence as the sounds of nature became muted, and an unhealthy silence filled the air around them, as if they teetered on the border of some unknown danger.

The land was rocky yet still graced with the presence of a few, spindly trees, their leaves already lost to the wind. To Legolas, the land seemed strange; the trees felt different, the terrain a little too open, yet in spite of this he felt claustrophobic almost, for the grey, jagged peaks jutted towards the skies and closed in their horizon. It was paradoxical, and he liked it not.

To the veteran warriors, this would be a familiar sight, for they would have passed this way before, but for him it was all new, simple village boy that he was, woefully inexperienced when it came to travelling. Amareth had never taken him anywhere, and now that he knew of his heritage, it all made perfect sense. She had been protecting him, perhaps, shielding him from the truth of his begetting. Funny, he mused, but he was not quite sure how he felt about that. There was a nagging irritation at the back of his mind, one that told him she was wrong to have kept the truth from him, wrong to have left him wondering if his parents had been outlaws, oath breakers or something worse. Had she not realised that her subterfuge had been obvious to him? that he had always known she hid something transcendental from him?

Idhrenohtar was looking at him again and so he met his friend's gaze and nodded - he was well, all he needed was some time to sort out the storm inside his head.

And then the thought of his mother - Lassiel - a Silvan lass from a humble family who had fallen in love with the king, no less. How that had come about he could not fathom, but he could well guess she would not have been deemed an appropriate match for Oropher's son. Was that what had happened? he mused. Had they been forbidden to see one another? And if that was so, why had they conceive a child, knowing they could never be together? that the child would not grow with both his parents to nurture him? It was unheard of, for conception was not a thing of luck but a purposeful act in Elven society.

And what of the king's children - his _legitimate_ children, he corrected himself. Prince Handir knew, he was sure of it, for there could be no confusing the expression upon his face just yesterday in the royal tent, before his own world had been utterly changed. But what of the Crown Prince - Rinion, and the princess Maeneth. Did they know? Would they blame Legolas for their father's indiscretion? Well he would never know, he realised, for they would not welcome a bastard into their noble house, and even if they did, would Legolas want that?

He shook his head to stop the incessant rumination of his mind, the movement enough to draw Ram en Ondo's attention, and from somewhere deep inside, Legolas mustered a soft smile, one that widened when he saw the reaction it gleaned from his friend. He had frightened them, unnerved them in so many ways in the last day; he owed it to them to pull himself together, to weather the tide one day at a time, as Idhrenohtar had told him that very morning.

But inside this whirling vortex of questions and emotions, there was one thing that was clear in his mind. He would not be ashamed; he would not lower his head and he would not be mocked. He was who he was by none of his own doing. He was Legolas of the Woodland Realm, a warrior and master archer. He was a good elf and loyal servant of his king and those things he would be proud of.

New strength surged through his veins and he breathed deeply as he sat straighter in the saddle, casting his now bright eyes around him, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time. A discreet smile curved his lips and a soft breeze lifted his white blond locks. It was a new day, a new life, and although he would remember his childhood with affection, it suddenly seemed to him now, that those days were far, far away, drifting like snow upon an early winter wind.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Twilight lent a grey-blue tinge to the cloudless sky and their breath frosted upon the air. Warriors, commanders and lords had wrapped their cloaks tightly around themselves, their hoods shielding them from the biting wind. Their hearths were bigger than they had been yesterday, the warriors sitting closer to the comforting flames as their pots boiled water, broth and tea. At the centre of their camp lay two tents, one bigger than the other, where Prince Handir would be, together with Lainion. The other would be for their commanding officer, Lord Celegon, for as far as Legolas could see, the imposing Sinda left all things of command to his faithful lieutenant, Galadan, also of Sindarin heritage, as were most of the Greenwood's commanders.

Lindo, Ram en and Idhreno sat talking quietly of the things they had seen upon the road, but Legolas could tell their heart was not in it.

"Pass me some tea, Idhreno," he said simply, and their hushed conversation stopped, giving way to a pregnant silence.

"Do not fret," he said again, before drinking once more.

"Legolas. ' _Do not fret'_ , after what happened yesterday is - _optimistic_ of you. You cannot ask it of us," said Idhrenohtar, his expression indignant.

"I can. I do. I am alright. Admittedly I am shocked and unnerved, and there are so many questions I cannot answer it frustrates me. That and my terror of this new - _development_ that affects my eyes, oh and did I mention I am nervous beyond belief at the prospect of being recognised by the Noldo," he added ironically, "But I _am_ alright, I can deal with it."

"Legolas," began Ram en Ondo carefully, "you have a reputation for convincing yourself nothing is wrong when it _is_ \- you cannot blame us for doubting your word on this one thing."

It was a bold statement, and Legolas held his friend's gaze for a moment, feelings of rebellion swiftly being replaced by acceptance, for Ram en Ondo was right. He had deceived himself all his life about not caring about his heritage - was this just another example of his inability to understand himself? No, he quickly realised it was not the same. Something had happened on the road, some inner strength had bolstered his spirit for deep inside, something had made sense, something he still did not understand. He had questions and no answers, except for the surety that he was strong enough to face this new challenge.

"I understand. And if I recognise that in this, you are right, it is because I am sure of what I say now. I do not say it will be easy, that I will not be angry or sad, or that I will need you all to keep me focussed. But I can deal with it. Until yesterday, I _did_ indeed deceived myself, but not today."

His words had been heart felt, strong and convincing. It was enough and Ram en smiled, while Idhreno and Lindo nodded curtly. They believed him, for now, but that did not mean that everything would slip back into normalcy, for that concept had just drastically changed for them all, and although they were still young, they were old enough to realise this one thing. Life would never be the same for them again.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

"Lainion. Should I speak to him, do you think?" asked Handir from the other side of their tent.

Lainion half turned to face his Prince, his expression thoughtful. "I am unsure, Handir. He may, perhaps, need a little more time to come to terms with this. Tomorrow, perhaps?"

"I ask, Lainion, not because it is my wish to do so, but because we should, perhaps, at least acknowledge one other, should the Noldor draw precipitous conclusions upon our arrival…"

"Of course," said Handir lightly, successfully hiding the twinge of disappointment. "Just remember, my Lord, that he is half your age…"

Handir's head whipped to face Lainion, his eyes a little wider than was normal for him.

"I had not realised quite how young he is. 'Tis a wonder he is already a warrior…"

"He is good, Handir. He is very good, and the Valar forbid you will not come to see just how good…"

Lainion would wonder, later, for his words had been prophetic, as they would find out no sooner the Sun peaked over the stony horizon.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Thranduil and Aradan had arrived from their short trip to the nearby Silvan villages, and as evening fell, the two elves fell under the awestruck stares of guards and civilians alike as they strode through the Halls. There was no mistaking the glint of life in the king's eyes, his tall, imposing figure straight and strong once more. No one had missed the frank openness in his eyes, the ghost of an elegant smile upon his lips and the length of his stride, long and powerful. He was a figure they had not seen for many centuries and while some managed to hide their surprise, others stopped to bow, their heads rising once more with a smile and a nod.

Aradan, who walked behind him, drank it all in, his joy almost bursting from him, his own gait both proud and powerful. The king was back and he, Aradan, was his Chief Councillor. The Greenwood would soon regain her equilibrium, her peace and sense of justice, her multi-cultural society that had never before discriminated anyone in any way.

The solid oak doors closed with a deep thud and the sound of guards snapping to attention could be heard from outside. Striding to the window, the king took off his cloak and turned to the window.

"Aradan, take note of what I say to you now, for there is much to be done. Call on whom you must to help you."

"Of course, my Lord," replied Aradan as he moved to sit at the table, reaching for a parchment and quill.

"Tell me, when is Prince Rinion due back from the East?"

"One week, my Lord."

"Good. No sooner he arrives I will see him in private. Meanwhile, I will write a letter for Maeneth, bound for Lothlorien. Arrange for a courier to ride out tomorrow morning with letters for the princess and for Lord Celeborn. I will write personal messages for Elrond, Handir and Lainion - these one will be urgent and priority. Have guards escort the courier, and Aradan," added the king purposefully, "It is of the utmost importance that these couriers leave in secret. I want no one to know of these dispatches, no one except you, me, Huron and Tirion."

"I have it, my Lord. No message for young Legolas, then?"

The king's eyes glinted. "Legolas? Is that what they call him?"

Aradan smiled, before adding, "Legolas, The Silvan, Hwindohtar…"

"Hwindohtar?" asked Thranduil with a frown, now utterly lost.

"Aye," smiled Aradan. "I am told there is a story to it, but you must ask Lainion for it. I have not even seen the boy."

The king looked thoughtful for a moment, before turning away. He had not answered Aradan's question about the letter, and the councillor would not insist, not yet.

"I am calling a summit, to be held in ten days' time," continued the king, momentarily startling Aradan from his musings. "I want all the Silvan representatives here, no excuses. We must ensure every village is represented."

"That will mean hundreds of Silvan delegates, my Lord."

"I know, yet it must be done. See to the logistics of it, Aradan."

"What of the Avari?" he asked. "They must surely be included in such a nationwide summit."

"Yes, of course, see to it, Aradan."

"And … can you spare me _two_ weeks, my Lord, instead of ten days?" he asked urgently, for the magnitude of these requests was simply - daunting.

"Yes. Two weeks then. And Aradan - issue an invitation to Amareth. I would speak with her…"

Aradan's furiously scribbling hand paused for a moment, before continuing once more, for the king was already speaking.

"We continue…"

"I am ready."

"I want Commander Huron and Captain Tirion in my office after lunch."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Before the evening meal, I will visit the training fields and our valiant warriors. I would have them know their king is grateful for their service to this realm."

Aradan smiled as he wrote, waiting for the next order. But none came.

"You want _more_?" asked Thranduil blithely as he turned from the window to his Chief Councillor.

Aradan looked up, his face open and joyous. "Welcome back, my King."

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Tomorrow would mark the final leg of their journey, but tonight, and to their horror, the weather had unleashed a bitter snow storm that had already covered half the camp in snow, indeed it was all they could do to keep their fires burning and their hoods upon their heads.

The company had remained at the back, for still no one had approached them with the slightest inclination to teach them. Thus they had naturally gravitated towards the position of the other Silvan warriors. They were received well enough; at least they were not subject to snide remarks and withering stares. There was an arrogance about the Sindar that did not fit with the Silvan way, and Idhreno rather fancied these Silvans thought the same, for he had not missed their disapproving stares when Silor had made one of his many, disrespectful _requests._

The wind howled around the rocks and crevices, and the duty guards called out their time signals - enemy at bay. The bird calls echoed strangely, and then mixed with the moaning wind. Idhreno cocked his head to the full moon, holding the hood of his cloak in place.

'tis a strange night,' he mused to himself, before curling up beside the rest of The Company, and falling into a fitful sleep.

By dawn, the warriors were covered in a thin layer of snow. Stirring to life, they shook it off in irritation, rubbing their hands and thighs in an effort to regain some feeling in their frozen bodies. Breath frosted before them, and Galadan watched them, his face grave as Lord Celegon came to stand silently beside him.

"This will set us back, my Lord. Pray it does not get worse."

Celegon turned to look at his lieutenant, but remained silent, for there was nothing else to say and so he cast his eyes around the camp one last time, and then turned into the prince's tent, leaving Galadan with his thoughts.

On the other side of the slowly awakening camp, the company sat sipping on their tea, the last small comfort before they set off once more. Idhreno was about to launch into a fully fledged mental moan about how uncomfortable their present predicament was, but he was startled out of it by a sudden movement beside him.

Legolas held his head tilted upwards, his eyes closed. Watching carefully, Idhreno half expected to see the unnerving green mist again and mentally prepared himself for it. However when Legolas did open them, they were crystal clear pools of moss green.

"The scouts return in haste, they have news…" he had said it loud enough for the Silvan warriors nearby to hear him.

"We should tell Silor," said Idhreno as he moved to stand.

"Wait," said Legolas, looking straight through his friend. Listening, he was _listening_ … and the Silvan warriors slowly rose to their feet, their eyes riveted on the the young warrior, the one they knew was called The Silvan.

"There is something they do not know… Idhreno, my _eyes_ …" hissed Legolas desperately in frustration, turning his head so that the others could not see the transformation.

"It's alright, you are shielded, continue."

"There is trouble they are unaware of… " he said urgently.

"Elo has gone for Silor," shouted one of the Silvan warriors, craning his neck for a better view of what was happening.

Idhreno turned to identify the Silvan, and simply nodded his understanding. They were only trying to help but Idhreno would have preferred to approach the aspiring Sindarin lieutenant himself, rather than drawing him to Legolas, for his eyes - his eyes were burning, blazing with green fire.

Moments later, Silor strode into their midst, anger furrowing his strict brow.

"What is the meaning of this?" he spat, "you are interrupting the morning agenda."

Ram en Ondo stepped forward, effectively blocking Silor's line of sight. "There is trouble, Sir. The scouts ride in haste and we believe there is something they do not know, some hidden danger."

"And who says this?" asked Silor, his voice low and dangerous as he rounded on Ram en Ondo, albeit his head only reached his collar bone.

"One of our party is a listener, Sir. He says it is so."

"One of you novice _Silvan_ boys? Fresh out of the barracks and already playing hero? Ah, let me _guess_ ," he said sarcastically - perhaps it is - The _Silvan?_ " he asked with a smile that seemed almost a snarl.

"Yes, Sir," said Ram en Ondo quietly.

With one hand flat upon Ram en Ondo's chest, Silor moved him aside until he stood before the cloaked and hooded Legolas, Idhrenohtar ramrod stiff beside him, his face hard and forbidding.

"Take your hood of when you address me, warrior. _Now_!" he shouted harshly. The other Silvan warriors moved closer, instinct telling them Silor should not have insisted.

After a moment of hesitation, one strong archer's hand moved up and flipped his hood down, revealing the harsh, rebellious set of Legolas' face, his eyes alight with the life force of the forest.

Some gasped, while others swore strings of curses in Sindarin, Silvan and even Quenyan, their hands straying to the pommels of their swords. It was then that Idhrenohtar, Ram en Ondo and Lindohtar stood to each side of Hwindohtar, their eyes burning into the surrounding warriors, daring them to approach, the promise of retribution glinting dangerously in their eyes should any endanger their friend.

"Servant of _Morgoth!_!" spat Silor as he lurched forward, but Ram en and Idhreno blocked his path with their own bodies, causing Silor to crash into them, or specifically Ram en Ondo. Not in vain had he been called Wall of Stone, for he was a monument of strength and Silor fell backwards, landing on his backside painfully, legs splayed clumsily.

Yet far from receiving help and protection from the Silvan warriors, they simply stood and watched,their eyes darting from Silor to the terrifying vision of Legolas. One of them, a chestnut haired elf, stepped forward, speaking it seemed, for the rest of his group.

"Who are you?" he asked slowly, his hand still over his knife."

"I am Legolas, The Silvan," said Hwindo, his voice strong and steady, in spite of the situation that had just taken place.

" _What_ , are you?" the warrior asked then, earning the confirming nods of the others.

"I am a warrior of his majesties militia. I am a listener. What you see is energy from the trees, brother. This is not witchcraft - it is _woodcraft_ …"

Against all odds, the brightest of smiles broke out on the warrior's face, his blue eyes sparkling and his white teeth flashing, lending him a soft beauty that wrenched a smile from Legolas, despite the ferocity of his face.

" _You!_ " raged Silor as he slowly stood, his furious eyes upon those of Legolas, which had begun to lose their glow, slowly returning to their normal colour.

Moving forward, he grasped the front of Legolas' tunic and pulled him forward until their eyes were inches from each other.

" _You_ , are in trouble boy. Get your backside to Lieutenant Galadan's tent now, you three as well," he added with a jerk of his head, before spinning on his heals and casting the other silvan warriors a thunderous gaze.

Legolas blew out a breath and Ram en Ondo struggled to control his ire.

"Let's go. Perhaps Lieutenant Galadan will listen," said Legolas as he began to walk away, towards the centre of their camp where Galadan's tent would be, next to Prince Handir's he supposed.

Behind him, Ram en Ondo, Idhrenohtar and Lindo strode purposefully, and as Idhrenohtar looked over his shoulder, he was surprised to see the other five Silvan warriors following them. He smiled at their leader, the blue-eyed warrior that had spoken up when Silor had landed on the ground.

Soon enough, they stood before the tent, watching as a fuming Silor emerged with Galadan, the Sindarin lieutenant.

"Who is The Silvan?" he asked quietly, and Idhrenohtar tensed at his menacing tone.

"I am Legolas, Sir," he said confidently, and Idhrenohtar was proud of the strength behind his words.

"You have disobeyed your superior. What have you to say?"

"That I have not disobeyed Silor, Sir."

"You say he lies?" asked Galadan, his voice even softer than before.

"I do," was all Legolas said.

Galadan turned his head to Silor in a silent request to explain.

"One of the Silvans came running to me about some hidden danger. I accompanied him for it seemed whoever had claimed this could not be bothered to report it himself. Upon my arrival, in my effort to glean the truth, I was bodily blocked from this _boy,_ " he spat, "by those two, pushing me over."

The Silvans bristled at the blatant untruth, but Legolas remained silent, waiting for Galadan to react to Silor's words.

"Speak, Legolas," said the lieutenant, his eyes momentarily registering the presence of the entire camp, the warriors and even Prince Handir stood in apprehensive silence as they watched the exchange.

"Sir, I am a listener. I know that our scouts have returned with grave news, and I also know there is an added danger - a danger we were warned about more than 30 minutes ago. We are in danger…" he said, his eyes momentarily straying to Lainion.

"Wait," said Galadan, holding his hand up. "Is it true, that you threw Silor to the floor?"

"No Sir. He moved to seize me and Ram en Ondo and Idhren blocked his path, it was his own impetus that sent him to the ground, Sir, they did not push him."

Galadan's brow furrowed. "Very well, we will deal with this at the appropriate time, for now, tell me, what is this danger you claim we are in?

"Our scouts will have reported a group of mountain orcs to our left. Their party will be twenty strong, but there is a second party at the rear, larger. The group the scouts report is a decoy - they set a trap for us, Sir."

Galadan walked up to Legolas and stared him in the eye as if he had gone mad. "Our scouts have indeed reported a group of _ten_ to our left…. how can you be so sure of this second group, of their numbers?"

Before Legolas could answer, the urgent yell of a sentinel split the air and their camp was plunged into chaos.

" _Attack!_ " yelled the guard, "to arms, "imminent _attack!_ "

Galadan shot a murderous glance at Silor, before rushing away to organise their defence. They had been caught off guard, and Legolas spat out his own curses in his own, deep Silvan dialect. Who should they report to? He wondered, for surely Silor would not have the gaul…

" _You!_ " yelled Silor unnecessarily - follow Galadan and get out of my _sight!_ he thundered at Legolas, and then span towards the rest of the Company. "And you, back to the end of the line, defend us from whatever your _friend_ thinks is coming from there…" he spat and then smiled crookedly before striding away.

Idrenohtar, Ram en Ondo and Lindo looked at each other, completely at a loss. Would there be anyone else at the end of the line? Did Silor send them there alone to die? It was the blue - eyed Silvan that broke the awkward moment.

"Then let the Silvans defend the rear - for glory and land!" he shouted, his face alight with the rush of imminent battle and the remaining silvans shouted their enthusiasm.

Those of The Company shared a last lingering gaze upon each other, their faces set in determination and courage.

"Come then, if the Sindar would disregard the voice of the forest, we Silvans never will. We _fight!_ " said Idhrenohtar, and with that, they were running down the line, their weapons of choice clasped firmly in their hands. And as they ran like the wind, Idhreno wondered what they could possibly do, against a host of forty, if indeed Legolas was right, and Idhreno knew that he was.


	26. The Listener

Author's notes: hello again everyone. Just a few answers to your questions before we continue. Regarding where Legolas' powers come from - they are not hereditary. Thranduil has a measure of feeling with the trees but he is not strictly a listener. Also note that Thranduil is Sinda, whereas Lassiel was Silvan, so Legolas is both Sinda and Silvan. His powers come from somewhere else - if you have read The Protege and / or Arcane Land, then you know what I mean, and if you haven't, I can't reveal this just yet. It will come up but much later on, and possibly in a separate story. For now, on with the action.

Chapter twenty-six: The Listener

The Company stood at the rear of the caravan, half their attention on what was happening further up the line, and the other half on any noise that would confirm Legolas' claims that another, larger group would attack here, where Silor had sent them, like dead meat for the carrion birds. Not that Idhrenohtar had any doubts, but the others would, and he could not blame them for that.

Legolas had been sent with lieutenant Galadan, master archer that he was, and Idhreno could only hope he would be safer there than he would be here, even without The Company by his side. The aspiring Sindarin lieutenant had given no creedence to Legolas' warning, and there had been no further time for him to press his point. Too late, too late for Galadan or Commander Celegon to make contingency plans, Silor had seen to that with his petty arguments and unveiled racism. Perhaps, mused Idhrenohtar, he would live to see the wretch pay for his tragic lack of skill as a leader, his ignorance, his _arrogance…_ surely there was no place for an elf such as Silor in Thranduil's militia?

The blue-eyed silvan with the face of an angel, or Galdithion as Idhrenohtar now knew him to be called, stood with his bow at the ready, eyes darting here and there, and Idhreno rather thought him a strange character; such an angelic face seemed antagonistic with the ways of warfare - he should be a poet, or a musician, a teacher, perhaps; yet there he stood in full battle mode, his brow furrowed and his weapons drawn - he reminded Idhrenohtar of Legolas, he realized.

A cry echoed down the line, and all too soon, the sounds of battle were unleashed; the twang of short bows and the whoosh of the larger, field bows ripped through the air, the scrape of metal and the cries and shouts from the warriors as they plunged into the fray mingled with the shrieks and below of the orcs they fought.

Any moment now, thought Idhreno. There were only eight of them; if the second group were indeed forty strong, that meant five for each of them. He knew their best bet would be to hide themselves and attack the surprise group from above, take them unawares. Damn their bad luck that Legolas was not here to pick them off as only he could do.

Thus it was decided, and the eight silvans hid themselves as only _Woodelves_ could, their blood rushing through their veins, their hearts pumping furiously as they listened to the battle a little further away, their hands tightening on their bows and their skin prickling almost painfully when an elven cry reached their ears.

It was Galdithion who first signalled the approach of the group, and as they readied their weapons, Idhrenohtar caught his eye only briefly, yet it was time enough to see what surely lay in his own. Fear, dread, determination - courage, and yet - he too, knew the truth of it; too many, there were too many…

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Legolas shot in rapid succession, the rhythmic release of his bow string whooshing loudly, even above the cacophony of battle below him, each arrow lodging itself with a satisfying thud in the necks of the enemy.

When at last there were no more arrows, he jumped to the ground and summersaulted forwards until he was in front of an orc that battled with Commander Celegon, stabbing it cleanly through the liver before spinning to the side and slicing another across the jugular. It screamed as it ran, hand desperately trying to contain the fountain of dark blood.

A cry off to his left had him running forwards, finding Silor struggling to parry the heavy blows of an orc that pressed it's advantage, for Silor's shoulder was hanging out of its socket. Jumping, he sent the tips of both blades into the junction between neck and shoulder, killing the beast before it crumbled to the ground.

Silor fell with a pained cry but there was no time to help him and so Legolas span, keeping the Sinda behind him. Flipping one wrist until his blade was concealed by his forearm, he used the other to stab one orc in the chest, before turning to face an open-mouthed Silor and thrusting his other arm behind him, a grim smirk and a sparkle of satisfaction in his eyes when he heard the scream of pain as blade pierced innards. Pulling back viciously on the blade, he turned once more, kicking out and catching another beast under the chin before twisting to the side, causing another orc to overcompensate and crash to the ground, where Silor stabbed it before it could rise.

Too many, there were too many, thought Legolas to himself as he fought, an unprotected Silor behind him.

Something pierced his flesh from behind. An arrow had lodged itself loosely in his shoulder blade, and with a grimace he reached behind and yanked it free with an angry hiss. No time though, for another two were running at him. Dropping to the floor he span on his back, lashing out with his legs and bringing one beast crashing to the floor, before flipping himself upwards and thrusting his blades into the other orcs' lungs.

With but a moment's respite, Legolas quickly pulled Silor to his feet and dragged him into the trees. The Sinda did not speak, for the pain of his dislocated shoulder would be excruciating, indeed Legolas was pleased he kept silent and allowed himself to be led away from the fray, however unceremonious it had been.

Running back to the field he caught Galadan's eye, before sprinting to the royal tent and ripping the canvas door open. Empty, it was empty. With no signs of a skirmish, Legolas deduced that Lainion would have whisked the Prince away no sooner the first cry to arms had been given. It was standard protocol he knew and so, strangely relieved, he turned and made his way back to Galadan's position - how he wanted to run to the end of the line and help his brothers, but Galadan held the camp with the help of but two other warriors, one of them being himself. He could not, in all conscience, leave them.

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The sound of his own, harsh breathing was the only sound to reach his sensitive ears, deafening though it was, and for a long while, it was all he could hear, that and the frantic thump of his overworked heart. His breath came in harsh, gulped breaths and he adjusted his position on the floor to ease its passage and replenish his starved lungs.

Pain shot through his shoulder and one side of his chest but he cared not. He needed to regain his breath and so he held himself on all fours until slowly, the thumping and the gasping were replaced by heavy breathing. A drop of blood fell to the earth below his face and he realised he could not see through one eye. A moment of panic took him and he reached up to touch his was slick with blood that had ran into his eye. Blinking furiously he managed to clear the red haze enough to see, not blinded, thank the Valar.

He sat back on his haunches and tilted his face to the sun, closing his eyes for a moment as his head protested the movement and he grimaced through the stabbing pain at his temples. Swallowing thickly, he opened them once more and for the first time since the battle had ended, he cast his eyes around their ruined camp, licking his parched lips and grimacing at the dryness in his mouth.

There were bodies strewn about the place, orcs and elves splayed this way and that. Were they all dead? he asked himself as his eyes desperately sought the slightest of movements to tell him he was not alone.

The need to know drove him slowly to his unsteady feet, hands leaning heavily upon his thighs as he adjusted to the pull on sore muscles and the bone deep fatigue he felt. It was then, that a hand fell on his shoulder, warm and distinctly elven.

"Are you alright?" asked its owner with a final squeeze before walking away, not waiting for an answer. "Come, we must help our brothers," he said flatly, and Legolas stood up, walking cautiously for a moment so that he could take stock of his injuries. Well at least he could walk, he mused, and that was enough for now. Everything else could wait for he stood upon a killing field and his stomach felt like molten lead.

Moving from one elf to the next, they found three dead and four seriously wounded, amongst them, Silor, Commander Celegon and two other, Sinda warriors.

"Lieutenant Galadan," called Legolas, surprising himself with his rasping voice. "What of the other battle further behind?" he asked in trepidation.

Galadan turned, his eyes studiously blank as he answered. "I do not know, Legolas. But whatever transpired, it is over now, it is all we can do to aid the wounded."

Legolas turned his ear to the wind and realised it was so, for the sounds of battle had ceased. All was done and all they could do was to pick up the pieces of this, disastrous ambush, one that should never have come to pass.

Soon, Galadan and Legolas had moved the four injured warriors into the remains of the royal tent. The dead would have to wait. It had been a painstaking effort, for both of them had sustained wounds, and if the exhaustion that comes with a battle such as this was not enough, the physical demands of carrying the wounded into the royal tent had them both panting and grimacing with the pain in their bodies.

"Silor," said Galadan. "Can you sit up and guard the tent in our absence?" he asked carefully, his eyes watching the warrior's every move.

"Yes, Sir," he said as he struggled to sit upright, adjusting his dislocated shoulder with a grimace and clutching a knife in the other. "I will do what I can," he said with some difficulty and Galadan nodded, and as Legolas turned to accompany him, his eyes met Silor's. There was grief in the Sinda's eyes, grief and regret and Legolas wondered what Silor would see in his own eyes. Could he see the anger? the frustration? the disappointment?

He had no more time to think on Silor, for Galadan was already striding away towards where The Company would have made their stand and with every step they took, Legolas' heart dropped further and further into his stomach. Should he find them dead, Ram en Ondo and Idhrenohtar - no - he would not think on it. It was time to act, the heart had no place here, not now.

Soon enough, the glade emerged before them and for the first time in his life, Legolas did not know whether to laugh or cry…

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Dusk was falling and so was the temperature. Legolas had gathered all the cloaks and blankets that were salvageable and brought them to their makeshift headquarters, where eight injured warriors now lay.

Galadan, Legolas and Galdithion had set themselves tasks that, under any other circumstances, required many more hands - but there were no more. Ram en Ondo lay insensate and Idhrenohtar burned with a fever. Lindohtar had suffered a scimitar wound to the thigh that had reached through to the bone. Commander Celegon had a concussion and various blade wounds, while Silor's arm was unusable. The other two warriors were still unconscious and it had been all they could do to stop the bleeding. There were no healers amongst them, for Dorhinen had perished.

Galdithion stood guard while Legolas gathered what little firewood was to be had, and water - buckets of it, indeed he had spent the last two hours hauling it into the tent and with this final pale, he lost his balance and crashed to his knees beside it. He was exhausted and he could no longer feel his hands it was so cold.

"Legolas?" came the soft voice from one of the pallets. Lindohtar.

"Lindo?" asked Legolas as he struggled to his feet and made his way over. "How are you?"

"It is painful, I will not lie," he said with a grimace.

"A little more and you would have lost your leg," said Legolas quietly.

"Aye," said Lindo. "How are Idhreno and Ram en?" asked the Bard Warrior.

"Not good. We must get to Imladris as fast as we may, but there are only three of us - and two day's ride separate us from the healing halls - nay I say two days but in the state we are in, it will take us four at least. We can only hope that our Prince and Lainion made it safely and will bring help to meet us on the path."

"We are closer than I thought," said Lindo thoughtfully.

"And thank the Valar for that," said Legolas with a soft smile. "Now, you rest, I work. Keep your knife close brother, for there are no guards to safeguard you."

"I will. And Legolas, see to your own injuries - we need you to get us back."

Legolas simply nodded, before hefting the water to one corner of the tent and then reporting to Galadan.

"Sir. There is water aplenty and enough firewood for tonight I would guess. I could try to hunt, if the enemy has been depleted, there is a reasonable chance at catching something."

"Have we no supplies at all?" asked Galadan, alarmed.

"None that could be saved Sir. It is all ruined. I have retrieved as many canteens as I could find and have filled them. Of our eighteen horses, I have managed to herd 10. They are tethered to our left, close to the tent. Should the enemy make an appearance we do not want them to flee, and should we need to flee we will be able to do so quickly, with at least the water we will need…" said Legolas, but he was still thinking, his mind searching for anything he may have missed.

Galadan's eyes lingered on Legolas for long, almost uncomfortable moments, before he finally spoke.

"Your reasoning is sound, Legolas," he said softly, before continuing. "See what you can find in the way of wood for transporting the more seriously wounded."

"I have done that Sir. There is not much, but with the thicker branches I have found and the leather from our unused tack, I should be able to fashion something- I will see to it," he said as he moved to turn, but a hand on his bicep stopped him.

"Legolas," said Galadan, and for the first time there was a note of emotion in the lieutenant's words. "You have done well…"

Legolas smiled sparingly, before nodding and leaving the warmth of the tent for the frigid cold outside. Galadan's gaze lingered a while longer, before a voice behind him snapped him out of it.

"Did you see him, Galadan? Did you see what I saw?"

"I did," he answered, turning to face the one that had spoken. "I saw it - and I will never forget it, Commander," answered the Sindarin lieutenant.

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His face was so cold he could no longer feel it, his expression frozen, his blue eyes watering. Beside him, Lainion galloped as his eyes continuously scanned their surroundings for any signs of danger, for the slightest hint of help.

He was a strange elf, mused Handir, strange and so utterly loyal. His father had always seen that, it was why Lainion had been appointed as Handir's personal guard, why the king confided so much in this Avarin lieutenant that would gladly give his life to see his prince returned to safety.

Handir had been whisked away when the first cry to arms had been given. He remembered their camp suddenly erupting into chaos, and Lainion pulling on his arm as he slung a pack over his shoulder. In minutes they had been away and with one final glance over his shoulder, Handir had spotted the Silvan standing in the middle of the glade, his mighty field bow pulled back and then released, the glint of silver upon his bicep and the intricate braids at his temple and crown. Funny the things the mind chooses to see at a given time, and what Handir had seen was not a young Silvan lad of half his own age, whimpering and wallowing in self-pity; he saw a warrior, brave and proud, skilled and loyal, his _brother,_ he reminded himself.

He forced himself then, to think on his own feelings. Did he care that he was running from the danger? Running from his own young brother and leaving him to face whatever destiny had in store for him? Would he care if the boy fell? If he _died_?

He frowned, for his questions had led him to a conclusion that he had not expected at all …

"Handir," shouted Lainion over the noise of their galloping horses and the howling wind.

"The Bruinen - the Bruinen is ahead - we are almost there!" shouted Lainion.

Handir nodded his understanding, and as he turned his face to the wind once more, he wondered where Legolas would be now. Was he dead, or did he live? - was anyone still alive, or had they all been slaughtered, in spite of his brother's warning? Had elven lives been lost due to the absurd rivalry between Sinda and Silvan elves?

Handir's purpose was bolstered - it could not be allowed to continue, and as soon as he had learned all he could from Erestor, he would travel back to the wood and put a stop to it, once and for all. But his battlefield would be in the council room, his enemies those close to Lord Bandorion.

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"They have crossed the Bruinen."

"They should be here by tomorrow then."

"Yes."

"What is it?" The golden-blond warrior turned his face and studied the fine silhouette of his raven-haired lord who simply stared out over the balcony to the lands beyond.

"There are only two…" came the answer, and Elrond's bright silver eyes were now upon him, deep pools of wisdom and a surety that could not be denied.

Nodding curtly, the warrior swivelled on his heels and strode away, his long burgundy cloak fanning around him, revealing for just a moment, a blazing sun carved upon silver metal and the pommel of an ancient blade, forged in the valleys of Tumladen.


	27. The Heart Will Prevail

Author's note:

As always, a huge thanks to all those who are reviewing and making this experience so rewarding.

I would like to answer Earthdragon regarding the 'mother' story of The Silvan. If you check out my profile page you will see a clear warning there - this story is based on The Protege and Arcane Land, by Alpha Ori. Both stories are slash - etc. etc. I do appreciate you having read those wonderful stories, but by stating in a review that they are both slash and explicitly so, you may be giving the wrong idea to other, potential readers of The Silvan. This story is NOT slash - I would have warned you if it were. Having said that, I have no issues with other people's sexuality - it neither bothers nor concerns me. I love comments, so perhaps a PM may be more suitable in cases such as these.

More action coming up, so hope you all continue to enjoy the tale :)

Chapter twenty-seven: The Heart Will Prevail

Frosted breath escaped his slack mouth, his blue eyes watering with the sting of November frost. He was hungry, and tired - so tired it was all he could do to keep his eyelids from shutting of their own accord.

His ears were freezing and it was, perhaps, the only thing that was keeping him awake, that and the smart of a colourful collection of cuts and bruises he had acquired during the battle, and after as he had struggled together with Legolas and Galadan to prepare their desperate journey to Imladris.

They had worked through the night to fashion the stretchers that now carried the eight wounded warriors, amongst them Idhrenohtar, Ram en Ondo, Lindohtar, Commander Celegon, and of course Silor, their would-be lieutenant. It was hard enough work as it was, but after a battle the likes of which they had survived, it was no wonder they dragged their feet and spoke not a word.

Silor, he sneered to himself as he adjusted his quiver upon his aching back, rolling his shoulders in an effort to ease it. What would come of his misconduct was yet to be seen, for Galdithion did not know Commander Celegon at all; all he knew is that he was a Sinda, and as such, would probably let Silor off with a few harsh words - that would be the end of it and it irked the Silvan warrior. He had been in the military for long enough to know it was an institution run by the Sindar, but that survived thanks to the Silvan warriors that constituted the bulk of Thranduil's army.

It was their lot, he said to himself bitterly. To fight and then allow their superiors to take the merit. It was profoundly unfair - and dangerous, he knew, for sooner or later, the Silvan people would rebel, and that was a scenario he did not want to contemplate…

Thunder rumbled in the distance and his eyes sharpened upon the slate grey towers of a storm that lay but a handful of leagues away. What else would mother nature throw at them on this, ill-fated journey? How much more could the three of them endure, before there were only two, and then one? he thought bitterly.

With a heavy breath he heaved himself to his feet and walked back to their camp, his mood dour and his spirit heavy. However no sooner had he sat at their meagre camp fire and crossed his legs, his eyes met those of Legolas and the boy smiled, he smiled so radiantly through the heavy morning mist that it seemed the Sun had found a path through the clouds. His dour mood now light and hopeful, his spirit bright once more. Who was this child? Who was this warrior who looked like a Sinda but professed he was Silvan? for his face was fair beyond any he had ever seen and his body spoke of a discipline far beyond what he would expect from one so young.

There was something lodged in the spirit of this Silvan child, something behind those extraordinary green eyes - something that was not common, something completely out of the ordinary. It was inspiring and Galdithion found himself smiling back and although he was cold and in pain, although their situation was dire - a strange sense of joy and purpose rushed through him, warming his heart and bolstering his courage. Let fate do her worst for somehow, Galdithion knew, without the slightest shadow of doubt, they would not fail.

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His prince sat hunched over the saddle, cold and hungry he knew, but he was safe; thank the Valar he was safe. Lainion had pushed them to the limit, stopping only to drink and ease their aching muscles, before moving once more.

Handir was no warrior, he was not accustomed to such hardship for this was not his place, this was not his stage. Handir did not use his body to defend his kingdom but his mind, his agile mind that would one day serve their kingdom well. He needed protection here in the wild, needed Lainion to see him to safety so that one day, that may come to pass.

Almost there, he thanked the Valar, any moment now, they would surely come across the Noldorin sentinels and be escorted to Elrond's house, for they were frozen and starving, exhausted and in danger, and should they be attacked now, Lainion doubted he would even be able to grasp his sword so numb were his fingers.

"Halt! State your name and purpose in these lands!" came a shout from the distance, spoken with authority in a Sindarin accent Lainion had not heard for centuries. He could almost hear Handir's relief, indeed he could not stop the corners of his own mouth from turning upwards.

"Lieutenant Lainion, of His Majesty King Thranduil's armed forces, escorting Prince Handir Thranduilion," shouted Lainion in his own, peculiar accent. No sooner had he pronounced those words, and four horses cantered towards them, tall warriors upon their backs. They were imposing, conceded Lainion, with their armour and their strictly braided blue-black locks and their silver eyes that glinted with life and intellect.

"Well met, Prince Handir. We have been searching for you. What has become of your entourage?" asked the leader of the group in concern.

"Thank you," was all Handir managed through is frozen lips, turning to Lainion for him to report their situation.

"We were ambushed upon the road. All I know is that there was a mighty host. The battle would not have gone well - they will need help," said Lainion, his words a little slurred and not as strong as he would have liked.

The Noldo, however, seemed to understand his predicament and simply nodded, falling into step with them as they changed course and headed home. The leader, however, sent one rider forward, to report, supposed Lainion in relief. His heart was heavy at what they would find, for if Legolas had been right, the odds of survival were, quite frankly, poor to non-existent.

A strong hand held a canteen before his face and Lainion suddenly realised it must have been there for some time. Turning to the warrior that held it, he startled for a moment, for the grey eyes that looked back at him were extraordinary - and familiar.

"Thank you," said Lainion, suddenly aware of how weak he sounded. Taking a sip, his eyes closed in ecstasy as the thick liquid slid down his throat, warming him and infusing his taste buds with the flavour of honey and herbs, and no small amount of liquor. Miruvor!

"Thank you, Elrondion," he ventured, and the warrior smiled before nodding and returning to the fore. They would soon be indoors, warm and fed, would soon be lying upon a bed of fresh linen and a roaring fire. Yet he could not stop thinking of the battle they had fled. What had become of his comrades? Were they alive? Dead? or worse, captured by the enemy? Did Legolas still draw breath or had he perished? The Valar forbid it, he shouted to himself, do not dare take him from Arda, for he is needed - the Silvan people need him - and Lainion too, he realized, for in Legolas he had found his own purpose, and for that to die would leave him floundering upon an infinite sea of chaos…

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Night was falling and Legolas could feel his mind opening, and another presence entering it. The trees - the trees were with him. _Alone, frightened, hungry…_

Concentrating, he closed his burning eyes and tried to relax, in spite of the shivers that wracked his frame.

 _Alone, hungry, so hungry…_

Legolas steered his horse until he rode abreast of Galadan, and then lent sideways, speaking as quietly as he could so as not to disturb the wounded.

"Lieutenant…"

"What is it?" came the equally soft answer.

"Do not be alarmed Sir, but - but if you see my eyes a little strange - 'tis not magic. It is the trees - they speak to me…"

Galadan turned to face the young warrior, startling abruptly as he realised the Silvan's eyes had started to glow. Galdithion too, was looking on in awe, yet it was not the first time he had seen this.

"By the Valar - what…"

"Please, Sir - it is a gift, it is what allows me to foresee danger."

Galadan stared dumbly for a moment longer, before nodding silently.

"Sir. We are being hunted. Not by orcs but stray wargs - riderless and hungry."

Sitting straighter, Galadan's shock turned to leadership in the blink of an eye.

"How long have we got? How many are there?"

"We have some hours yet, there number is unclear, for it is dark…"

Galadan turned, obviously weighing up their options, but before he could pronounce himself, Legolas spoke once more.

"Sir, if I may - as we are, we cannot defend ourselves and our wounded. I believe our only option is for me to hang back. I can defend us from behind and give you and Galdithion time to move as far forward as you can…"

"It is suicide…"

"I have a chance, Sir - the trees are with me…"

"They are not armed, Legolas…"

"Sir, better then, that I should die than the ten of you."

Galadan stared back at the Silvan, before letting out a long breath and glancing briefly at Galdithion.

"I cannot gainsay your reasoning, Legolas. Go then, and defend us if you can, give us what time you can."

Legolas nodded, moving to adjust his weapons and position his quiver, but just before he could wheel his horse away, Galadan stopped him with a hand on his forearm, his voice soft but knowing, respect and realisation colouring his words, words that Galdithion would never forget, and that would take Legolas completely by surprise.

"Be safe - my _prince._ "

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

He was a Prince, the importance of which had been ingrained on him ever since he had consciousness of the world. Yet here he sat, frozen to the marrow, a painful gnawing ache in his empty stomach the only thing keeping him awake. His clothes were in tatters, stained and crumpled, his hair in utter disarray and his face and hands smudged with dirt.

He and Lainion had been bidden to sit in what Handir assumed was the healing section of the house, for the smell of herbs and oils permeated the air, and elves in black gowns walked this way and that, trays and bottles in their hands. Yet there were no beds in this room, only an open, roaring fire and comfortable chairs where various elves sat back and dozed. A recuperation room, perhaps, mused Handir tiredly.

"Are you injured, my prince?" came the deep voice of a Noldorin elf. He was tall and imposing, his face somewhat lined. He was old, realised Handir, and had his wits been more about him, he would have realised it was Elrond himself that tended him.

"No. We fled the battle, I am simply tired. And hungry," he added hopefully, almost as a child would, unsure if it would be fed.

"Of course. Sit back and rest, Prince Handir. Food will be brought to you in a moment."

With that, the elf moved away from him with a last, lingering look, before approaching Lainion.

"Lieutenant. Are you injured?" he inquired again.

"No, my Lord Elrond," came Lainion's answer and Handir desperately tried to control his suddenly heated face. A fine start, he reprimanded himself as he watched the lord, who nodded and then, with a kind, knowing smile, turned to leave. Yet before Handir could check himself, words blurted from his uncooperative mouth, words that had come straight from the heart.

"My Lord. Please, you must help our warriors…"

"Of course," said Elrond with a slight frown. "We are out searching from them even now as we speak."

"You do not understand, my Lord…"

Lainion looked over at Handir, to his face that was so often straight and unexpressive and yet now, seemed so young and vulnerable, desperate, almost.

"What is it that I do not comprehend, Prince Handir?" asked Elrond carefully, slowly walking back to where Handir sat.

"They, they may have given their lives to protect me, my Lord, I must do all I can to find them soonest…"

"This I know, Prince. Your guard has done well to extract you from the fray - it is standard protocol in our lands as it is in yours, I am sure. Do not feel ill that they made this sacrifice…"

"You don't understand…" came the whispered words once more and Elrond crouched before Handir, placing one white hand upon his knee, his silver eyes sparkling with wisdom.

"Who have you left behind, child?" asked Elrond just as quietly, albeit Lainion had heard it and he froze, his eyes widening in sudden realization.

"My brother - I left my young brother behind…"

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Galdithion fumbled clumsily with the leather harnesses, checking they had been sufficiently tensed, it would do them no good to have one of their injured fall during their trek - they were hard pressed enough as it was. Indeed Galadan seemed to drag his feet as he shouldered their meagre belongings, his body hunching over not with the weight but with exhaustion.

They had worked through the night, one caring for the wounded while the other searched for wood and water, and then stood watch. There had been no sign of danger, thanks, perhaps to Legolas scouting behind them - but who could say, thought Galdithion. The fool had taken it upon himself to guard them, to protect them as they fled to safety. It was a fool's errand, and yet he had heard his reasoning, and like Galadan, he had not been able to refute it. It was a necessary thing, and Legolas knew he was the best choice - he was a listener and that gave him an advantage - true he was also the best warrior among them, or so Galdithion reckoned, for as yet, they had not fought together.

Ever since the day before, when he had returned from the last watch and Legolas had handed him a mug of steaming tea - something had changed with the world. What that was, Galdithion could not say, but something had shifted inside him, had rearranged itself. He needed time to think on it - that and a soft bed, hot food, a steaming bath and clean hair. He laughed at himself in spite of his discomfort, and soon, they were on the road again. The Valar permit they arrive soonest, for infection was starting to set in, and of the eight injured, four had worsened significantly, while the others endured the pain that came with the movement of their stretchers, slipping in and out of consciousness as they desperately tried to hold back the involuntary sounds of their distress.

And through it all the cold persisted, until late afternoon brought with it the breaking of the storm, and the rain fell like sheets of silver paper. It took them three hours to find an overhang under which they could take shelter from the unrelenting torrent and start a small fire.

Galdithion and Galadan sat huddled around it, their soaked cloaks wrapped tightly around them and their breath frosting before them. Fat drops of rain dripped from their hair, their noses, their chins and their eyes were lost, unfocussed, introspective, until a single howl sharpened them once more and they looked at each other as they listened.

Not wolves but wargs, strays no doubt that called to one another to group up. They would hunt, no doubt. Galdithion allowed his eyes to wander, to the trees which, he realised, creaked and groaned louder than they normally did, perhaps due to the storm but perhaps not. The warm light from their fire reflected off Galadan's undoubtedly Sindarin features, setting his blue eyes to sparkling as the orange flame danced inside them. It was a strange sight and he wondered if he looked like that.

Something ancient brushed his subconscious, an intuition that perhaps only a wood elf could feel, and yet perhaps not, for Galadan seemed to shudder as he closed his eyes and then opened them once more, only to look squarely once more at Galdithion. What did he see? wondered the Silvan. Had he, too, felt it?

Another howl split the air, nearer now, and as Galdithion and Galadan continued to look at each other, they seemed to be saying the same thing, albeit no words crossed their lips.

Legolas, find them before they find us, for if they do, they will feast on our flesh this night…

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Elladan had led his small contingent of five warriors, tracking Lainion and Handir's movements backwards, until sure enough, the sounds of horses reached them and Elladan's heart lifted.

After a few more minutes, what remained of the Greenwood royal caravan emerged from the tree line, grinding to a halt only to sit in silence, a silence that was broken as one elf slid from his saddle and hit the ground with a thud.

The Noldor dismounted and Elladan ran to the unconscious warrior, before looking to the only elf that now stood upon his own two feet on the ground. A Silvan.

"What has happened?" asked Elladan as he frantically searched the warrior for the origin of his injury.

"We were ambushed. Four of our warriors are seriously injured, infection has set in. I am Galdithion and that," he gestured to the elf on the floor, "is lieutenant Galadan. You must forgive us," said Galdithion, his voice becoming weaker and weaker as he spoke, "we are both - we are both," he could not finish before his knees buckled and he hit the ground. He had nothing left, exhaustion had won its game and Galdithion could no longer function.

Elladan looked to his second, Cormion, their expressions identical, for neither were untried as warriors, they knew the sacrifice these two warriors had to make to get their comrades to safety - two in charge of eight, in this weather; it was a mighty feat and respect overwhelmed him for a moment. It was then though, that Galdithion found his voice once more, even if it was for just a moment.

"My Lord… there is one more… you must - you must find him - find The Silvan."

"The Silvan?" questioned Elladan as he frowned in confusion - surely most of these warriors were Silvan.

"He has been defending us from behind, buying us time until you could find us…"

"Alone?" blurted Elladan, before regretting how harsh his words had sounded.

"There was no other way…" whispered Galdithion in misery.

Elladan held Galdithion's gaze for a moment before nodding and barking out his orders. They were a day's ride from Imladris and so he ordered Cormion to mobilise the group and make their way back. Elladan would scout around before joining them at the only camp they would need to set before their arrival. If this - Silvan - had made it, he surely would not be far away…

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Light, there was light and he was dry and warm - comfortable, and blessed be the Valar in bed! It was surely late but he begged that no one disturb this moment of bliss, for his body ached and his stomach felt empty.

Turning his face to the brightest source of light, he slowly cracked his eyes open and smiled at the bright sunlight that fell upon him, warming him.

An involuntary moan of pleasure escaped him and he closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them once more, only to find the face of Lainion leaning over him.

Startling, he made to sit up, but the Avarin lieutenant held out his hand in an unequivocal signal to stay where he was.

"Rest, my Prince. I will see to some breakfast for us."

"Lainion," said Handir seriously. "What news? what news of our elves?"

"None, they are out searching it seems, but so far, none have returned."

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"Thranduil has been remiss, it seems," a deep, rich voice - Glorfindel.

"Not necessarily," answered Elrond lightly as he rose from his chair and made for the balcony, for the weather was dry and sunny, albeit the air was frigid.

"He may be a bastard child, Glorfindel, one the king may or may not know of."

"It would surprise me. Oropher was strict in his education. Why would Thranduil create a child outside the bounds of matrimony with his queen?"

"Perhaps it was before he was bonded - you heard the rumours."

"No, I do not believe that at all. You know Oropher was as a brother to me, Elrond. I knew his heart, had his ear in all things. I do not believe his son would have done such a thing."

"Yet it is harder to believe it happened once he was married, rather than before, is it not?" asked Elrond as he turned to meet Glorfindel's gaze. "What could possibly motivate him to do such a thing?"

"I know not," said Glorfindel, shaking his head, his brows deeply furrowed.

"Whatever the case, my friend, we must proceed with caution. We do not know if this is common knowledge - there was something in the young prince's tone that tells me this is - _delicate_."

"Aye, and if rumour has it right, the Greenwood suffers a rift between Sindar and Silvan elves - one Erestor tells us has worsened since the queen sailed."

"We need to talk to Prince Handir. As soon as he is rested we must call him to us, see to it Erestor is informed of this and be discreet, Glorfiindel. Should this permeate our lands and fall into the wrong hands…" he finished with a meaningful stare.

"I will see to it, Elrond."

Just then, the sound of horses clattering into the courtyard below sent both lords to the balcony railing.

"Holy Valar…"

"Send for Nestaren," said Elrond hurriedly, before swirling on his heel and striding from the room, a slower, pensive Glorfiindel behind him and as they walked down the hall, the ancient warrior stopped for a moment before a mighty wall painting of the last alliance. A tall, strong Sinda warrior stood proud upon an outcrop, his long, blond-silver hair blowing in the breeze, face strong and determined, a face more beautiful than any he had ever seen this side of the sea.

Oropher, Sindarin King of old - his brother in all but blood. They had both died but only Glorfiindel had returned - 'I will see you again, old friend. One day, upon the shores of Aman…'


	28. The Last Warrior

Author's note: Sorry for the long wait! I decided it was time to include a recap of events - the plot is convoluted, I know, so I thought a reminder would be handy - hope you agree!

Rita Orca: thanks so much for the fantastic encouragement. Guest 1345 - wow - I am honoured!

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Chapter twenty-eight: The Last Warrior

Lainion rubbed his face, partly in frustration and partly to keep himself from dozing in the warm afternoon sun, as Galdithion had already done. He had sought out Galdithion just this morning, no sooner the Silvan warrior had awoken from a long sleep, one that had left him somnolent and quiet. They had walked here to the gardens, and Galdithion had told Lainion of the battle, and then of how he had struggled together with Legolas and Lieutenant Galadan, through exhaustion and pain, frost and torrential rain, but his words had been sparing. There was a story of heroism there he was sure, but Galdithion had been distant and unfocussed, strangely out of sorts and unwilling to speak of it.

All he had managed to convey was that at some point, Legolas had suggested he drop back and defend the group from the rear, and that Galadan had agreed to it, and in spite of Lainion's initial outrage, with quiet reasoning came understanding; it was as logical as it had been necessary, a sacrifice of one for the benefit of ten.

He breathed deeply through the sudden weight in his chest, for there was every chance Legolas had perished in the wild, alone, and if that were so, what then had they gained? All their hopes would be dashed, Thranduil would be cast back into the grieving shell of the king he once was, The Greenwood would become a land of Sindarin rule and he, Lainion, would be left with the intangible memory of one that had marked his life so deeply.

He remembered then, the last words that Galdithion had uttered before falling back into sleep…

'… _Galadan called Legolas 'my prince'…'_ he had whispered those words, and his tired face had reflected his perplexity, the unspoken question floating behind his bleary blue eyes.

Lainion had stared back at the Silvan warrior, wondering what to say. He settled for simply asking Galdithion to not speak of it, with the promise of an explanation later on, once they were all safe, and although the warrior had not been please with his answer, he seemed too tired to insist and so the boy had simply nodded, before closing his weary eyes and returning to sleep.

Lainion was startled out of his thoughts by an elf who stood quietly before him, his head cocked slightly to one side.

"Lieutenant Lainion?" he asked.

"Aye," he replied, slowly standing.

"My Lord Elrond requires your presence, if you will accompany me?"

"Of course," he said, and with that, he nudged the dozing Galdithion, who woke with a groan that was almost a growl.

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A calm, steady presence at his side, a strong hand upon his shoulder - Glorfindel.

"Commander General Celegon is with them…" said the deep, mellow voice of the Noldorin general.

Elrond was not surprised, for a Prince of the realm warranted the best warriors to ensure his safety, especially because Handir, Thranduil's youngest son - or so they had thought - was a statesman rather than a warrior. Elrond simply nodded his understanding, and then walked thoughtfully to the tall windows of his private study, his hands clasped behind his back. He had called this, informal, council where others could not hear, for the information they had come by, warranted no less.

A knock on the door revealed Prince Handir, and Elrond turned to greet him. He still looked tired, he thought as he walked forward and nodded in respect. "I trust you have rested well, my Prince?" he asked as his eyes continued to study the young elf.

"Much better, thank you My Lord, although I pray you will forgive my atrocious appearance," he frowned as he gestured to his borrowed clothes.

"Ah, Bethaniel will visit you later to see about some appropriate attire for you, I assume you lost all your belongings in the battle…"

"I would not know, I was not there for it," said Handir simply, - there had been a hint of bitterness in his tone and Elrond wisely remained silent, casting a quick glance at Glorfindel, whom he knew would not have missed it.

"My Lords," came the strong voice from the door.

"Lieutenant Lainion, thank you for joining us," said Elrond with a nod, "and you are Galdithion?"

"My Lord Elrond," bowed Galdithion as he followed Lainion across the room, bowing respectfully to Handir as he passed him.

"Elrond, what has happened, there is… ah, you will excuse me!" said the dark-haired elf that had all but barged into the room, unaware that his lord had visitors.

"Lord Erestor," smirked Elrond. "Welcome home, I trust your journey was satisfactory?"

"Of course, my Lord. Lord Elrohir will be here in a moment to report, but I see you have urgent business at hand," he said, his eyes anchoring on Handir as he removed his cloak.

"Indeed, take a seat Lord Erestor and all will be revealed.

"Of course. Although if I may," he said, moving to stand before Handir.

"You are Prince Handir?" he asked kindly, his ancient eyes twinkling in curiosity.

"I am he," replied the prince, standing and placing his hand over his heart, his face alight with wonder and respect. "You are Lord Erestor?" he asked.

"I am he," replied the Chief Councillor with a smile. "This is not how I had imagined our meeting, but may I say I am honoured to tutor you for the next six months."

"The honour is mine, Lord Erestor. Long have I admired your skill as a statesman - this for me is a gift beyond my wildest expectations, the honour is mine…" he said seriously, before his face fell as reality came back to him.

Erestor cast a questioning glance at Elrond, then at Glorfindel, before sitting and accepting a glass of wine from the general.

"Father!" came the exuberant voice of another black-haired elf, one that shared the same sparkling grey eyes as Elrond.

"Welcome home, son. We will speak later of your journey. Join us now."

"Of course," said Elrohir with a scowl, before adding, "where is Elladan?"

"Patience," said Elrond as he turned to them all.

"Well then, now that we are all here," began Elrond. "I will sum up the latest events and the news we have, unexpectedly, stumbled across…"

Lainion nodded encouragingly at Handir, whose face remained serious. The boy was worried, for the elves that had escorted him here, for the brother he had left behind - guilt gnawed at him, and Elrond could see it as clearly as the light of day.

"The Greenwood caravan that was escorting Prince Handir here to tutor with Lord Erestor, was ambushed, five days ride out to the south-west."

Erestor and Elrohir sucked in a harsh breath as they sat on the edge of their seats, leaning forward in anticipation.

"Prince Handir was extracted and escorted here by Lieutenant Lainion, leaving twenty warriors behind. One of them, it seems, is Prince Handir's _younger_ brother…"

Absolute silence fell over the room. Lainion and Handir looked down to the floor in misery but Galdithion's eyes were alight and alive, startled yet knowingly so, it seemed, Galadan's strange words now making complete sense to him. Turning to Lieutenant Lainion, the Avari simply nodded the truth of it to the Silvan warrior, before Elrond was speaking again.

"Prince Handir. It is of the utmost importance that you tell us - is your father aware of his presence? of his existence?"

Handir glanced at Lainion for a brief moment before turning back to Elrond.

"He knows but we assume he believes the child is in Valinor, with his mother…"

Elrond scowled and Glorfindel's eyes closed.

"How did you find him?" asked Elrond bluntly.

"Captain Tirion and Lieutenant Lainion first guessed his heritage, as such perhaps your questions would be better directed at Lainion. I was not aware of this, half-brother, at the time, indeed it was Lieutenant Lainion that told me of him."

"Lieutenant?" asked Elrond

"He presented himself as a novice warrior at the barracks that Captain Tirion commands, on the outskirts of the city. There was no doubt as to his heritage, my Lords, for his face is _unmistakable_ …." he trailed of, the memories of those first days temporarily distracting him from his tale.

"Captain Tirion then sent him to me, ahead of the training program as he was. The problem was that being closer to King Thranduil's court, meant that danger of being discovered was a potential threat. The older, higher-ranking Sindar reside there, the ones that would recognise him beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt. We decided then, that precaution was paramount. You see, my Lords. I knew that our king had a child, but the child was supposed to be in Valinor with his mother - 'tis a long story I will cut short for now, if you will allow."

"Go on," said a pensive Elrond. He wanted the entire story, but now was not, perhaps, the time.

"The presence of a bastard child - a half-Silvan child, would not sit well with the Sindarin purists, who would use this information to their own benefit, or worse still, eliminate what they would surely consider to be a threat to their sovereignty…"

"You speak of _treason_?" asked Erestor in alarm.

"I speak of its potential, my Lord, yes. You see, the child was conceived as a means to prolong his mother's life, see her safely to Valinor, for without that hope, she would have faded…"

"Why?" asked Glorfindel, stepping a little closer to Lainion.

"Because they were _soul mates_ , my Lord, soul mates that could never bond, for King Oropher would not allow it."

Glorfindel shut his eyes once more, and Lainion continued.

"They were desperate measures, but when faced with the threat of his lover's death, the conception of a child seemed - _acceptable._ Yet in spite of the measures King Thranduil went to, someone found out - and told our queen…"

"Valar!" said Glorfindel, raking his hand through his hair. "This is - convoluted…"

"Indeed, my Lord. We never knew who was responsible but we suspected it would be someone close to Lord Bandorion."

"He was ever in conflict with Oropher, 'tis true. He - disapproved of his acceptance of the Silvan and Avarin cultures," added Glorfindel, his eyes cast away to the side in painful memory.

"It was, therefore, paramount that Tirion and myself approach the appearance of the child with the utmost caution. As such, we approached the king's closest and most trusted elf, Lord Aradan. We devised a plan, a plan to ensure the boy's continued warrior training, and then send him abroad as soon as possible, where I would then tell him of his heritage, while Lord Aradan would tell the king."

"Why?" asked Elrond flatly. "Why did you withhold this information from the king, from the child?"

"Because, my Lord, there was no telling the king's reaction to the news, no telling what the Sindar would think or do, indeed no telling how the child himself would react. We also have the added difficulty of Crown Prince Rinion. His relationship with his father has - _deteriorated_ \- shall we say. Since the queen sailed, he has ever blamed his father - indeed all Thranduil's children have." Lainion stopped for a moment, casting an apologetic glance at Handir before continuing. "News of The Silvan and his prowess in the martial arts caught Rinion's attention, we knew he would seek him out as soon as the boy stepped inside the inner circle of the Greenwood - we could not risk that."

"So," began Elrond, "you waited until the boy was out of reach, and for Rinion to be away, and then included him on this mission."

"Yes," said Lainion. "The king had rewarded the five most talented novice warriors the chance to continue their training here in Imladris - the child is one of these warriors - although no longer a novice."

"How long has he been a warrior?" asked Glorfiindel, slightly puzzled at what Lainion was saying.

"Six months, my Lord."

" _What?_

"I know, my Lord, but believe me, there is much to say of the child. Suffice it to say he is - _precocious_ …"

Glorfindel continued to stare at Lainion as he resumed his narration of the events that had brought them here.

"And so, I told Legolas of his heritage on our way here - just days before the ambush, and we assume, that Lord Aradan has by now, told the king of the appearance of his son…and, of the implications regarding his lover."

Silence reigned for long moments before Glorfiindel broke it, his voice soft and pensive.

"It would not have been easy - I assume he was brought up by some such family member?"

"Yes," replied Lainion. "His aunt took on the role of mother and brought him up in one of the deep Silvan villages. She never travelled with him, never left that place and neither did her adopted son - until he came of age to train as a warrior and she could no longer hold him back … "

"So he lived his entire life in a Silvan village, unaware of his heritage, believing perhaps his parents to be dead - did this aunt tell him anything at all?" asked Glorfindel, a note of disapproval in his tone.

"Nothing, she would not speak of it - indeed it has been a - _problem_ for the boy that he has, perhaps, yet to come to terms with. The shock of the identity of his father was overwhelming, my Lord."

Handir's face was pulled into a deep scowl and for a moment, Elrond pitied the boy, for of a sudden he seemed so young and vulnerable, his true age becoming evident.

"And so," continued Elrond, "wait, what name does he go by?"

Lainion smiled for the first time that morning and he turned to face Elrond, his deep blue eyes easily meeting Elrond's weighty gaze.

"His given name is Legolas, his warrior name is Hwindohtar, but the people, the Silvan people, simply call him The Silvan."

"Why?" asked Glorfindel.

"Because he has the face of a Sindar, and the heart of a Silvan. During his short time, first as a novice and then as a warrior, he has excelled - yet more than this the boy has the gift of empathy. For a society such as the Silvan people, relegated by the more radical sections of the Sindar, to second-class citizens, they feel ill-treated. They believe their needs and desires are not being addressed, that their warriors do not ascend to the ranks of leadership as easily as the Sindarin warriors, that they are mere puppets, necessary labour for the designs of the Sindar. In Legolas, they see a spark of hope, a distant light that some believe will one day shine with the force of the very sun, returning to the Silvan people, the role that they should never have lost."

"When they find out who his father is, will he still be that hope?" asked Erestor, somewhat sarcastically. They were all startled though, when Galdithion rose to his feet and lifted his head.

"Yes."

All eyes rested on the Silvan warrior, waiting for him to ellaborate.

"I only found out when Galadan called him ' _prince'_. I did not understand at the time, but I do now. That he is the bastard son of Thranduil will not change their opinion of him - it will improve it ten-fold. My Lords," he said emphatically, "King Thranduil is highly respected by the Silvan people; it is Lord Bandorion and his circle of Sindarin purists that we disapprove of. They are a minority but they poison the minds of others with their persuasive ways. It must be stopped, and if Legolas is not the one to do it - someone else will."

Elrond stared at the young warrior, respect in his eyes for the elf's confidence, his surety. For some reason this, Galdithion, was loyal to Legolas in a way only more experienced warriors were to their superiors.

"How long have you known Legolas,Galdithion?"

"We met on this journey, my Lord."

"Why, wherefore this loyalty to one that is still so green in the ways of warfare? He is not your superior…"

"In this you are wrong, my Lord. He has not been given rank for indeed, he is new to the army - but when you meet him, when you speak to him, you will see what I see - what Idhrenohtar and Ram en Ondo and Lindohtar see, what Dimaethor here sees… we see a leader, a prince, an extraordinary elf that will, one day, defend those he loves the most - the Silvan people."

Galdithion's bold words rang throughout the study. Glorfindel's experienced eyes studied the Silvan warrior, while Elrond was already ironing out the words in his mind, analysing and weighing up his options.

Finally, the Lord spoke.

"Galdithion. What happened on the road here? How did you get the injured warriors back?"

Galdithion turned to Elrond and smiled sadly. "There were but three of us fit enough to see it done, albeit we were battered and bruised, beyond exhausted, for the battle was fierce. We fashioned structures that hang between the horses. We placed the wounded inside, albeit we knew we would not have the strength to get them back out, not unless we were found. The weather was frigid and storms impeded our progress. Wargs began to hunt us - Legolas knew we would not be able to defend the wounded, let alone ourselves and so he offered to hang back and defend us from behind…"

"Elbereth…" sighed Glorfindel.

"We knew, my Lord, we knew it was nigh on impossible a task, but what else could we do? It was a remote possibility that we could make it to Imladris, that he could buy us enough time to save ten warriors, even if it meant his own demise…"

"How old is this child?" asked Elrohir softly.

"Seven hundred and forty-four," replied Lainon.

"By the Gods," said Glorfindel. "Elladan must have scouted back from your position - he would not be far away…"

"Yes," replied Galdithion. I heard him say that… I just pray …"

"As do we all," came the surprisingly strong voice of Prince Handir, now standing proudly. "I do not know the boy for we have not been formally introduced," he said wryly. "Yet I believe he is alive. If he is as extraordinary as you say, he will have found a way - you will see," he said with such conviction that Lainion was suddenly struck by the worth of this prince. He smiled and then cast his eye on Galdithion who, as yet, was not a member of The Company, but that, he hoped, would soon change, for the Silvan had proven his metal, and Lainon would address that fact as soon as he was able.

Elrond nodded at the prince and Glorfiindel looked on in respect.

"Then we wait," said Elrond. "We wait for Elladan to bring him back and when he does - we will speak again, and then decide what, if anything, should be done. For the moment we must inform him of your arrival and the circumstances surrounding it- I will, however, wait for the missing to return."

"Thank you, my Lord," said Handir, for the first time taking on the role of leader of his people. "I wish to express my gratitude to you and your household, for the attention you have dispensed us with, we are indebted."

Handir finished with a bow, which Elrond returned with a smile. "I must visit the healing wing and check on your warriors, Prince. Will you join me?"

"I will, my Lord," said Handir with a smile.

And so it was, that the Lord and the Prince walked away together, bound for the healing wing, slowly followed by Glorfindel, Elrohir and Erestor, and finally by Galdithion and Lainion. Lainion slung one arm over Galdithion's shoulders and drew him closer.

"You have served well, Galdithion. What say you to a place in The Company?"

"What is The Company?" he asked with a scowl.

"Ah - that, is a long, long story I will tell you about - while we wait for Legolas to return…"

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The sky was full of diamonds, sparkling and dimming, dimming and sparkling and then flaring in bright white light that send needles of pain through his eyes and to the back of his throbbing head.

Slowly, the diamonds dissipated and there was white fog, and then grey, until colour defined the objects that lay before his barely open eyes.

Leaves, twigs, branches and beyond, a blue, cloudless sky. He remembered rain and frost, and then mist and yellow eyes, gnashing teeth and stinking hides, pain…

He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the sudden wave of nausea as agony flared in his side and he gasped, in spite of himself.

The trees rustled and creaked and suddenly, he felt colder even than before, strangely bereft and a brief flicker of a distant memory brushed his mind. A child sitting in the lap of an oaken sentinel, a feeling of bliss as he looked to the tree and pressed his cheek deeper into the brown bark and felt overwhelming love…

Scowling, he turned his head and resisted the urge to shake it, for before him, was the image of a Noldorin lord of old. A river of blue-black hair, fashioned into buckles and loops before his ears, piercing grey eyes that sparkled with a wisdom far beyond the years he counted. Rich fabrics of blue, grey and black, and thick leather armour across his chest. The sword at his side was no ordinary blade - nay - for Legolas was learned in warfare, recognised the metal of the first age…

Funny though, he thought, for the image did not disappear and as time spread on, Legolas began to think it may be real, that there really was an elven lord of old, standing before him…


	29. Noldorin Lords

Author's note: sorry for the long wait. To make up, here is a bonus chapter, a little longer too. Thanks to my guest reviewers: Rita Orca - you always make my day! Ninde - me alegro un montón que sigas leyendo y comentando, me encanta recibir tus comentarios :)

Chapter twenty-nine: Visions of Past and Present

 _Stop_ , concentrate - on the road ahead and not on what you saw in the forest. _Don't_ \- don't even think on it, for it will lead you astray; I cannot risk that, he will not last.

Foul weather, I can hardly see for the incessant rain and the frigid wind that slows my pace and stings my eyes but I cannot close them, I cannot allow that, for he will not make it should I err on the path.

 _Cold_ , so cold, even for early winter; do you purposefully hinder me? Do you test my endurance? and _his_? What have we done to deserve such punishment?

Where did it come from? that tree with the upturned roots? I have not seen it before and I know this land well, too well. If a storm had twisted it out of the Earth, I would have known, father would have known. No - I cannot fathom its existence, its shape and its …. no - _stop_ ; do not even think on it, for it will lead me astray… it is not yet time.

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Dusk had settled upon the house, and inside, the occupants of the healing wing sat and talked quietly, while others lounged in their beds, or picked at their evening meal.

Candle light blazed strong and still, shadows were cast upon the carvings and wooden panels that decorated the walls of this, Noldorin safe haven. It was beautiful, but Idhrenohtar could not concentrate on that now - he was too worried, too focussed on the slightest of disturbances that may come from outside, a sign that someone approached, that Legolas had been found, for two days had now passed and the weather had done nothing but deteriorate.

Together with the Wise Warrior, sat Lindohtar, somewhat awkwardly, and Ram en Ondo, his head still bandaged; in soft chairs to each side of the bed, Galdithion sprawled miserably as he pushed the remains of his food about his plate, and Dimaethor watched him, his foot moving rhythmically.

"I have asked Galdithion if he would join The Company," he said, almost as if he spoke to himself, for his eyes fell on nobody's.

"And what did he answer?" asked Ram en Ondo softly, as if Galdithion were not there at all.

"He asked what it was - what The Company is…"

"Ah, said Lindohtar somewhat theatrically. Now _there_ , is a story…" he said with a soft smile. "I am not the most veteran of those, brave warriors," he said as his smile widened, "Ram en Ondo or Idhrenohtar, together with Legolas, founded that venerable institution, one I am proud to belong to!" he said mischievously, and Galdithion watched him with a bemused smile of his own. His eyes slipped to the Wise Warrior then, and so the story began.

He spoke of childhood in the deep villages of The Greenwood. He spoke of a friendship that would not be broken, a pledge to protect and to respect, a shared destiny of service and obedience. He told of anecdotes that made them laugh, hardship that was shared, burdens that were lessened by the simple presence of another - he spoke of brotherhood beyond the bounds of blood and by the time he had finished and the night was dark, Galdithion sat staring at the four wounded warriors with newfound respect, and with a profound desire to be a part of what they had. Ever had he served the King well, but never - had he received a kind word of acknowledgement for his service. To belong to The Company would change that, it would fuel his calling, push him to new limits, motivate him to do the best job that he was able to do.

Turning his head to Dimaethor, he spoke for the first time since Idhrenohtar had weaved his tale.

"Why would you want _me_? I have done nothing to merit it, you do not know me at all…"

Dimaethor sat forward in his chair, his strange, slanted Avarin eyes sparkling with confidence and surety.

"You brought our warriors back, through physical and mental hardship. You did not waver, yet more than this you spoke well in council today - I can see there is a natural loyalty in you, I can see in _you_ , what I see in the others. It is not only for your merits, it is your _heart_ , Galdithion. You see in Legolas what we do - you see a leader, you see hope for your people and for yourself …"

Galdithion's blue eyes sparkled, alight with purpose and shared understanding.

"Yes…" he said somewhat numbly. "I cannot explain it, I have no idea why I should feel the way I do about a warrior so young and inexperienced and yet… "

"We know, Galdithion," said Lindohtar kindly. "And now that we know of his heritage, does it not make perfect sense?" he smiled as he waited for the elf to answer him.

"Yes - yes it does," he replied. "I would be honoured to join you then, if you are all in agreement?" he asked tentatively.

Five smiles preceded five nods, and with that, The Company became six.

"Now, do I get one of those fancy warrior names?" he asked with a giggle.

"You do, and as soon as we can find one appropriate for you - _Galdithion_ is a mouthful - what was your mother thinking, boy!" said Ram en Ondo playfully. With that, the mood lightened and they turned to lighter topics, but their ears were still trained on the door and their hearts were not fully on the ensuing banter.

From a nearby bed, a Sindarin Lieutenant listened, as he had been doing for the past hour. He was not eavesdropping, for they were all in the same room and had they not wished him to hear they would have spoken more softly. Nay - they did not mind and Galadan was glad of it. The _Company,_ he mused. The tale had entranced him and he smiled. Perhaps he would retell it later to his companions, the story of The Silvan and his closest friends. It had not surprised him, what Idhrenohtar had said at the end, about seeing something in the boy. He too, had seen it, and before he had been able to check himself, the words had tumbled out of his mouth - who would have said - could have guessed, that Thranduil had conceived a child of the forest…. a half-silvan child… the question was, was he at liberty to discuss this?

Of that he was not sure, but what he _did_ know, is that to Silor, he would say not a word.

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Lightning blinded him and he opened his eyes wide, the grey irises illuminating for a moment. A loud rumble of thunder came just moments later, loud and ominous and the body before him lunged to one side. Tightening his arms around the elf, he winced as his own body protested the non-stop riding, the awkward posture he had been forced to adopt.

Rain broke on his face and mud splattered his sides, his arms, his hands - it was everywhere, slowing them down, as if mocking their suffering.

A few more minutes, just a few more minutes, he mumbled to himself, leaning over the insensate figure before him in one last spurt of speed, and then the dull thud of hooves over sodden earth turned to a loud clatter and Elladan closed his eyes in utter relief.

" _Rider! incoming rider!"_ The voice was strong, echoing around the courtyard and the main house in spite of the torrential rain and thunder. Soon, windows were alight with the blaze of candles, condensation forming over the crystal panels as elves flocked to see what was happening below.

The main door opened with a loud bang, and Elrond ran out, together with Glorfiindel and Nestaren, unperturbed by the sheets of stinging rain that soaked their robes and plastered their hair to their heads.

The exhausted horse stopped before the steps, harsh gusts of laboured breath sending streams of blue mist into the night, flanks heaving with the effort. It took Elladan a moment to move and when he did, he was slow and careful, his voice somewhat slurred as he too, struggled for breath.

"Take him - take - take him, Nestaren - he needs, needs…"

"Breath, child, _Elladan!_ \- catch your breath," shouted Elrond over the roar of thunder as he approached together with the head healer, holding their arms out to catch the limp figure that slumped over the horse's neck.

Slowly, they took hold of the body and carefully slid it from the animal and to the floor. Elrond kneeled over the elf and placed his hand over his neck, moving it twice, three times until he stopped and his head moved to the side.

"Inside, now. Nestaren - the intensive section - alert your healers…"

"My Lord!" said the healer with a nod as he moved back into the house with surprising speed. Glorfindel took his place and helped Elrond carry the body. It was surprisingly heavy and they struggled for a moment, before moving into the house, Elladan following watchfully.

"What happened?" shouted Glorfindel, not only because he needed the information, but also to keep Elladan focussed. He was exhausted, and possibly injured.

"He was so close - and yet I could not find him…. not until I found the tree…"

"What tree?" asked Glorfindel.

Elladan simply met his eyes for a moment, before looking away.

Glorfindel's eyes lingered for a while longer on Elrond's eldest. There was something in his eyes - something he had rarely seen in him. There was shock, and fear, and confusion. Whatever had happened out there had rattled him, and the general stored the information for later. Elladan was a skilled healer and could also be a skilled warrior, if only he could decide which was his true calling.

Lord Elrond tumbled into the healing wing together with Glorfindel, both soaking wet, trembling with the effort of carrying the dead weight between them but they did not stop and so, the other occupants of the ward simply watched as they moved to the end of the long room and lifted the body onto a bare stone slab.

They could not see for the healers and knew it would be futile to approach them now and so, they sat and they waited together, their own hurts temporarily forgotten as they listened and they prayed to the Valar and Kementari, that he would not die. Even the Sindarin warriors further down the room watched in silence.

The soaked, mud splattered cloak was removed but nothing had been revealed, for a mass of hair, the colour of which Glorfindel could not guess, was plastered to the face, neck and the clothes below. Elrond gently moved a hand over the face, pushing away the matted tangle to reveal a mighty bruise at the temple than ran almost down the entire side of the elf's face.

Lifting an eyelid, Elrond startled for a moment as a bright green iris shone from below the skin. Glorfindel looked to him for a moment in askance, but Elrond simply shook his head as he continued his preliminary study, feeling Nestaren now at his side.

Cutting away the outer, leather jerkin and then into the fabric blow, it was not long before the elf's torso was completely exposed and Glorfindel shut his eyes in sympathy. This elf had bruises and cuts both old and new, but it was the evidence of wargs that seemed to have done most of the damage.

Deep claw marks had raked over his chest, down his side and as they turned him on his side, his back too, was deeply scored.

"These are infected and need flushing," said Elrond bluntly, no emotion at all in his voice. "These need stitching - this," he added as he held up a limp hand, "this needs attention," he said, a slight waver in Elrond's voice that drew Glorfindel's attention, for the nails of the elf's right hand had been torn away and he winced at the pain that must have caused. It was then, that a flash of metal caught his attention and his eyes travelled up to the strong bicep, for there, sat a bracelet Glorfiindel recognised; it was a symbol of mastery and as he looked closer, he spotted the arrows in the centre of the design - a master archer - he mused, before a healer reached up and removed it, placing it on the table beside the bed.

As Elrond and Nestaren continued to search for wounds, another healer was gathering the tangled mass of hair away from their patient's face, and as the features became clearer, in spite of the mud and blood and the bruises, Glorfindel gasped, and then staggered backwards, holding his arms out to the sides. All eyes turned to him for a moment, before turning back to the patient, but Glorfindel did not stop until he felt the cool stone of a wall behind him and he leaned his head against it for a moment, closing his eyes and then opening them once more, blue eyes that were now swimming in unshed tears.

"Brother mine - dear Gods -"

And there he remained, watching numbly as Elrond and Nestaren worked through the night, cleansing and stitching, washing and dressing, until finally, they lifted the now clean body from the stone table, and took him into the next room, under the watery gaze of The Company.

"Lord Elrond…" came the soft call of Idhrenohtar as they passed.

"Peace, child. He will be well - I will see to it."

Elladan, now in comfortable, dry clothes, placed a heavy hand on Glorfindel's shoulder, a question in his tired eyes.

"Oropher," mumbled the great lord, "he is the mirror image of Oropher…"

Elladan's brow furrowed deeply, his eyes boring into Glorfindel's unfocussed gaze. "What do you mean…" he asked softly.

"Much has happened in the time you were away…"

Elladan simply cocked his head to one side in puzzlement.

"The Silvan - Legolas," he gestured with his head, "is a child of _Thranduil…_ "

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He could not sleep deeply, and so he dozed as his overworked mind wandered. How had his life suddenly taken such a strange turn, in but two days? Where had they come from? the host of at least fifty orcs, according to Glorfindel's reckoning. They had not been chartered, for if they had, this ambush would never have taken place - his father's warriors would have seen to them before their guests arrived - he himself, would have ridden with them.

The strangeness of the Silvan people, the silence of the Sindar and the exotic Avarin guard whom he had seen hovering around the bed; and then the incredible claim that this, Legolas, was a child of Thranduil - not a prince - a _hidden_ child…

He breathed deeply to still his increasing heart beat - he needed to sleep for his body was exhausted, the chill still set inside his bones, in spite of the roaring fire that had been lit in his suite of rooms.

Turning onto his other side, he saw the tree once more. It was gnarled and twisted and uprooted as if by something unnatural - this is where he had found Legolas, nestled deep within a cocoon of roots and soil and leaves… _how_ \- how had he hidden himself so that it had taken Elladan all but two days to find him? How had he tucked himself inside, with the wounds he sported? He could not fathom it, it was beyond his ken and an uncomfortable, hollow feeling settled in his gut.

He breathed deeply once more, turning again so that he faced the fire, relishing for a moment, the heat upon his face and the outline of his brother slouched upon the couch. It was times like these that the quiet strength of Elrohir was a balm to his soul, a soul that tonight, was astir with questions to which he was unsure he desired an answer…

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The sky was white but the diamonds had gone, and in their place were dark blotches he could not identify. The more he tried to bring them into focus, the more his head hurt, and so he closed his eyes, realising they were already closed.

With a deep breath, he cracked his eyes open, cringing at the brilliant sun upon his face. He closed them again with a soft groan. He wanted to turn over, for his body felt leaden and numb, but he had no strength for it.

"Lie still," came the short order and Legolas was compelled to obey, resisting the overwhelming temptation to fidget.

"Open your eyes…"

He had already tried that - it was too bright but the voice insisted, and so he gingerly opened them once more, just a little. Thankfully, the brilliant light had dimmed and the dark blotch before him began to take form - a lord, a Noldorin lord, old and imposing. The page of a book came to his mind's eye, and before he could think, he spoke.

"Lord Elrond Peredhel…"

Soft laughter from somewhere behind had Legolas wondering what was so funny - it _was_ him, he was sure of it. He had seen the drawings in books. He scowled…

A soft hand rested on his forehead, warm and kind and again, his tongue stepped before his brain.

" _Yavanna_ …" a whisper, a plea, almost.

The hand stopped for a moment, hovering now over the heated skin, only to disappear - no laughter now, just silence save for the clink of glass and the trickle of water being poured into a container.

"Drink."

Something hard pressed against his lips and he drank, slowly, for his throat burned painfully.

"Enough."

A long sigh escaped him and he ventured to open his eyes once more, wider this time, the world taking shape slowly and fuzzily at first, only to sharpen upon the face of the one he had called Elrond.

"Welcome to my home, Legolas," said the elf, his eyes so close he could see the silver specks within the grey irises, a vortex of wisdom and experience behind them, lending them a weight, a light Legolas had never seen before. He was entranced, but then a wave of anxiety hit him.

"What of.. what of the … the warriors…" he managed to articulate.

"They are safe."

Safe, they were safe…they made it back…. a soft smile light up his bruised and battered face and he winced as the cuts pulled painfully.

"You have been asleep for two days; you must be hungry…" said the lord lightly.

Legolas' half-lidded eyes fell on the lord and he smiled, "you have no idea, my Lord.." and he finished with a soft giggle, for what an understatement that had been. He was starved half out of his mind!

The lord stopped once more, as if he had been startled, only to continue with his treatment, but Legolas did not see this, he could not move without some wound pulling uncomfortably and so he continued to lay back upon the soft pillows and allowed his eyes to close.

"Do not sleep just yet, Legolas. Food is here…"

His eyes snapped open and Elrond smiled as he watched the young warrior, before turning and nodding at the healer behind him. As he left the room, he came face to face with five patients, most of which should not have been out of bed. They stared at him, their eyes rebellious - he recognised that look for it was the one he had received from his sons when they had been younger.

"Not yet. Let him eat and rest once more. Then, I promise, you may see him - but not yet…"

The one in the centre, a dark-haired elf, scowled deeply but nodded all the same. "We will wait then, my Lord."

"Not here you will not. Back to your beds, all of you. After lunch we shall see if you may leave these halls…"

With a reluctant nod, the small band disbursed and Elrond glanced back at the now closed door. He was intrigued, enthralled by the young warrior that was not at all what he had expected, for Elrond had _giggled_ , for the first time in centuries…

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He sat heavily in his favourite chair and poured himself a glass of wine from the glass decanter that sparkled enticingly upon a nearby table, casting a furtive glance at his quiet son, who sat pensively to his left. Elrond was tempted to draw him out, but before he could formulate a strategy, Erestor, Elrohir and Glorfindel walked in, their keen eyes upon them both.

"Well?" was all Erestor said, before sitting and helping himself to the wine, and then passing it on.

"He is awake - and eating," said Elrond with a smile as he sipped on his goblet.

"And?" asked Glorfindel in irritation.

"He will be up and about in a few days no doubt. The boy is strong."

"Does he look like Thranduil?" asked Erestor inquisitively.

"No," said Glorfindel before Elrond could answer. "Only in that he is the very image of _Oropher_ \- Erestor, when you see him - it is quite simply, uncanny."

Erestor held his gaze for long moments, aware of the relationship Glorfindel had shared with the fallen monarch. This would bring back memories, of days gone by.

"It is true," said Elrond introspectively. "It is striking - I find it hard to believe this boy has passed by unnoticed for so long."

"Lainion did say he had been sheltered by Amareth," remembered Erestor as he drank.

"Even so," said Glorfindel. Those of his village - they would surely know. You have but to open a book and see a portrait of Oropher. There is more to this story than Lainion has said, either he hides something, or he does not know."

"You think the villagers were silent collaborators?" asked Elrond.

"I think it is a possibility," replied Glorfindel carefully.

Breaking the contemplative silence, Erestor leant forward. "I am seeing Prince Handir today. We will plan his studies for the next few months. I think perhaps it will do him good, to get into some sort of routine. We must not forget how trying this time will have been for him - it is easy to forget that he, too, is a victim in this."

"Keep me informed, my friend. For now," said Elrond, "we wait for the boy to recuperate, and we hold council once more. Until then, we watch and learn. There is something about that child I do not understand."

"What do you mean?" asked Glorfindel, his brow creasing.

"I cannot say," said the Master Healer softly. "I do not know - not yet," he finished as he took a gulp of wine.

Glorfindel and Erestor shared a worried glance before turning back to Elrond, but nothing more would he say.

Elladan, however, spoke up for the first time that afternoon, and when he did, although softly spoken, none could doubt the emotion behind them, the conviction of their meaning.

"There is magic about him. A deep, arcane thing that comes from the forest …"

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There was a tense silence in the healing wing, and Ram en Ondo was nearing the end of his admittedly short tether.

"What is _taking_ so long! We just want to see him, what are they not _telling_ us!" he roared, drawing the attention of the healers.

"Warrior, you will calm yourself," came the stern voice of a healer who came to stand before the irate Wall of Stone, his head only just reaching the elf's sternum. He gulped silently.

"No - _you_ calm me. Tell me at least if he will be _alright!_ Is that too much to ask!" he roared again, before turning on his heel and stalking to the window with a slight limp and a shaking hand to his bandaged head.

The healer looked down and then at the massive back of Ram en Ondo. "Forgive me," was all he said before approaching the window and placing a calming hand on the muscled shoulder.

"He is well, or will be. Let him rest a little longer, then you may see him. He needs peace and quiet for today at least. Do not fret," said the soft-voiced healer in genuine empathy.

Ram en turned, seeing the other warriors behind the pale healer, watching him.

"I appologize, healer. It was not my intent to antagonise you."

"I understand."

"After the evening meal then?" he asked and the healer smiled, wide and genuine.

"After dinner," and with a curt nod, he turned and left, a regretful Ram en Ondo feeling petty and infantile.

"Sorry," he mumbled with a shrug before returning to his bed in silence.

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The day was almost done, and Ram en Ondo held to the healers promise of finally being allowed to see Legolas, but when they reached the door, they were summarily sent back the way they had come.

"Prince Handir is not to be disturbed," said a Noldorin guard, his voice strong and clipped.

Ram en Ondo's face turned sour and before he could explode once more, Idhrenohtar stepped forward.

"We will wait," he said, his voice brooking no argument, indeed the guard simply nodded and stood to attention once more.

To pass the time, The Company sat and studied the guard's attire and weapons, as they knew Legolas would too, if he were here. They had struck up a heated debate on the virtues of metallic and leather armour, and what pieces would be cumbersome in a woodland environment. As for the guard, he stared straight ahead as protocol dictated, but when no one was looking his eyes would swivel to the young warriors, wishing they would shut their mouths …

The door opened, and Prince Handir appeared, with Dimaethor at his shoulder. The Silent Warrior smiled as he nodded at his brothers - all was well, he silently said, and of a sudden, the mood lifted, as did their shoulders. Yet before they could enter, Handir spoke.

"I am sorry to have kept you. I wished to thank our brave warrior for his service, he said calmly, before nodding and leaving with Lainion, who shared one last lingering look at Idhrenohtar.

" _Our brave warrior,"_ muttered Lindohtar tartly - "' _brother_ ' he means…"

"Give him time, Lindo," said Galdithion. Give him time…"

Entering slowly, their eyes travelled over their injured brother as they accommodated themselves around him, careful not to move his bed too much.

Tired green eyes followed them, an apology upon the beautiful face, still marred with fading bruises and cuts.

But the reprimand Legolas had been waiting for did not come. Idhrenohtar would have warned them not to, he was sure, and Legolas was so glad of it. He had needed this time to rest and to think, and although he had not been able to reassure himself fully, he had at least, found his peace. Even Handir had visited him, albeit his tone had been that of Prince to warrior. He had been kind though, and Legolas supposed that was all he could ask - all he should expect. You cannot come to love a brother simply because you _have_ a brother…


	30. The Silence of the Silvans

Author's notes:

I have guests coming, so if I don't update for a few days, please don't shoot!

Ranran - I am so pleased for that, I hope that continues!

Horsegirl, regarding Legolas' weight - ok. Personally, I like my elves as 'physically viable' as possible. What I mean by this is that, unless they have some kind of gift or magic, to my scientific mind they are subject to the laws of physics. As such, Legolas is quite a tall elf, and particularly well-muscled due to his intensive training - so while not as big as Ram en Ondo - he would be quite heavy. Sorry, but I just do not like my elves flimsy - LOL.

Guest 1345 - I am honoured, as always!

Ninde - un besote

Guest13446 - I get the urge to write those little episodes like the one at the start of the last chapter - just like the first chapter I suppose, if you remember.

Rita Orca - well thanks for loving the thanks!

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Chapter thirty: The Silence of the Silvans

The Company, with the exception of Legolas, had been freed from the confines of the Healing Wing, and now, they sat in borrowed clothes upon Legolas' bed as he moaned and complained of his own 'incarceration' as he called it.

Lindohtar giggled as he pulled at Galdithion's fine tunic. "We look like Lords!" he exclaimed, and Ram en Ondo beamed proudly as Lindohtar swaggered his hips and cocked his wrist.

"Fools," smiled Legolas, then winced as his wounds pulled.

"You have new robes too, Legolas - you must be fed up with being naked!"

"Shut up, Idhrenohtar! I am not naked, I am wearing bandages…"

Galdithion snorted and Lainion's eyebrow rose as he asked. "Even _there_ …?

Lindohtar hooted and Legolas glared at the Avari, obviously deciding that there was nothing else for it than to endure their foolery. They had been worried, he knew - it was their way of releasing the negative tension they had accumulated over the last three days. The light-hearted banter did not last long though.

"How was your talk with our Prince?" asked Idhrenohtar, his eyes fixed on Legolas.

Silence fell over The Company. The subject was still knew. They had not spoken of Legolas' surprising heritage - there had been no time, and when there had been time, it had not been the appropriate moment.

"Well," he began carefully. "He was kind and - distant. I am not sure what I expected; hate and anger, or cool dismissal. I have not had the time to ponder it. I suppose it is enough that he did not treat me with disdain…"

"And you are content with just that?" asked Ram en Ondo, to which Galdithion nodded his agreement.

"Not content, Ram en, but _think_. _I_ am the one to interfere with his family structure, _I_ am one who could, potentially, cause him much strife. I do not know the full story but I suspect their has already been much heart-ache surrounding my - _existence_. I have no rights, and no right to demand his regard as a brother."

Galdithion's face was serious. "Legolas. Family is sacred, you share the same blood…"

"It is not about the blood we share, Gal, but about the blood that separates us."

"Be that as it may," he insisted, "you owe each other respect. Part of what he has is _yours_."

"No!" said Legolas forcefully, before softening his tone. "Nothing he has is mine. _Nothing_ …" he whispered. There were deep emotions swirling under the surface, his unwillingness to speak any further becoming evident to them all.

"And yet," continued Galdithion, unwilling to let it go. "And yet you are _wrong._ You may not want it - but it is yours by right," he finished, equally convinced of what he said.

Legolas stared at the Silvan warrior for long moments, resisting the urge to answer him, for it would do no good. He did not wish to argue the point for now but his eyes continued to rove over the angelic features that were scrunched into an expression of such fierceness it seemed - almost funny and Legolas smiled in spite of himself.

"What is so funny?" asked Galdithion, suddenly self-conscious.

"Your face…"

The scowl deepened, but Legolas continued. "You have been accepted into The Company and I am more than honoured that that should be so - you are missing a warrior name…"

"And?" asked Galdithion in irritation, irked that Legolas should change the subject so abruptly.

"And, I have it - I have your name…"

The scowl inverted and his eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"Pray tell," smirked Idhrenohtar as he watched them both.

"Rhrawthir - you, are Rhrawthir, Fierce Face…"

Ram en Ondo guffawed load and unconcerned that he was in the Healing Ward, while the others snickered. But Legolas and Galdithion continued to stare each other out, one grinning toothily and the other wearing his fiercest mask, until he could take it no more and he smiled.

"Alright. I understand, Legolas - I do - I just, I have strong views on family…"

"I understand too, Gal - as far as I am able to that is, for I never had family, and to have one now, one I never expected, it is - all so new and strange - I do not know what to do, how to feel. I can only go with the tide…"

"And the tide will be high, Legolas," warned Idhrenohtar. "Your identity has become known…"

Legolas' head whipped to the Wise Warrior. "How? How did that happen?" he asked with a scowl.

It was Lainion that answered though, for he had been there when it happened. "It was Prince Handir, Legolas. "No sooner we arrived he begged Lord Elrond to find the warriors he felt he had ' _left behind;_ ' he begged them because he said he had ' _left his young brother behind_ ,'" he finished softly, watching Legolas' reaction.

With a deep breath, Legolas looked away, and his doubt was back. "You see," said Galdithion, "blood does count, Legolas. He cares about you, that much is sure; he just does not know how to go about this…"

"Who does?" asked Lindohtar.

Galdithion nodded and looked to the floor, and when he looked back up again, he smiled wide and genuine. "Fierce Face," he repeated, as if savouring the name, "you have a sarcastic streak, Hwindohtar."

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Hours later, Legolas lay atop the sheets of his bed, now in comfortable sleeping clothes. This was to be his last day abed, or so Lord Elrond had promised, well almost. There had been that - unimportant - condition that he should rest for the next week ahead, and though he had not wanted to admit it, his injuries had left him sore and weak.

By some miracle, he had not lost his journal in the ambush and now, it sat open before him, the rough sketch of Rhrawthir recently finished. It brought to mind the conversation he had had earlier with The Company, and when Legolas had finally had time to sit and think in the silence of his room, he realised he had come across as much more unconcerned about his family situation than he really was. The truth was different - he _was_ curious about his brother, he wanted to get closer to him, to know what it was like to have a sibling. It intrigued him that Handir had revealed his secret with the sole intention of begging Elrond to find him sooner. But how does one get close enough to a Prince? Handir seemed so unapproachable, especially when the subject that concerned him was, potentially, volatile and upsetting.

Turning the page of his journal, a blank page stood before him, crisp and inviting, and so he closed his eyes and mustered the face of his next sketch - the elf he had first seen in a glade back in The Greenwood, the day he had become a novice warrior. It was only recently that he learned of his true identity - Handir, Prince of The Greenwood, his brother.

His stomach flipped every time he thought of it, and …. A knock on the door startled him for a moment, before he collected himself. "Enter," he called softly, reaching for the water on the bedside table. He nearly spilled it though, when he realised who it was that walked through the door.

"My Lord!" he called, making to leave his bed, but a stern look and an outstretched palm stilled him immediately.

"Forgive me," said Legolas bashfully and Glorfindel smiled kindly.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to a nearby chair.

"Of course, my Lord, please," he said, turning to face to the legendary warrior, obviously uncomfortable with his more than casual attire and the fact that he was receiving a legend in his pyjamas, sprawled upon a bed.

Glorfindel, unperturbed by the young lad's obvious distress, leaned forward and stared at the rough sketch of Handir.

"Ah, your brother," he ventured, his eyes meeting those of Legolas challengingly, well aware of the risk he took by brooking this subject without the slightest preamble.

Indeed he had left the boy speechless and momentarily regretted having expressed himself so abruptly.

"We are aware of the story, Legolas. It has come to our attention."

The boy simply nodded, and then looked away in distress.

"Are you ashamed?" asked Glorfindel softly. It was not an accusation.

"Not of who, no, but of _how_ , perhaps - I - I am unaware of the full story, as you may know."

"Yes - I know, child. But let me tell you this," he said, leaning forward until his face was but inches from Legolas. "I was a brother in all but blood to your grandfather, Oropher. He was the most extraordinary elf I have ever met. A brilliant mind and witty character; a fierce, brave warrior with an unwavering sense of loyalty to his people. I admired him, Legolas, and I miss him, every day of this life."

The boy had listened avidly, and Glorfindel had seen keen interest under the distress. Casting his eyes back down to the journal, he continued his questioning in the hopes of drawing him out. "What else do you keep in that diary?"

"This? 'Tis a journal of sorts, a multi-purpose thing, my Lord. 'Tis a diary, a note book, a to do list, a wish list.." he smiled bashfully.

"And what sort of things do you take note of?" asked Glorfindel, sincerely interested now. He was not, however, quite expecting the answer he received.

"Well, apart from these drawings, I write the things I would change…" he looked up self-consciously at the great lord, as if asking for permission to continue. The encouraging smile he received was enough.

"The problems I encounter with equipment, uniform, logistics. Impressions on orders given or how they are given, decisions on strategy that I do not understand and need to document, moves that others make that I wish to incorporate, or that I could improve…"

Glorfindel stared at the boy in fascination.

"You think me mad…" said Legolas with an understanding nod. "You are not the first to think this strange," he smiled.

"Legolas, it is not that I think you mad. It is, however, strange, to find a young, recently promoted warrior taking notes on such things. If one is looking for promotion, a diligent candidate would do such a thing, but you do not have to worry yourself on such things for now."

"Perhaps not," conceded Legolas. "But I enjoy it - the research I mean. I have read everything I could find on warfare and strategy - even your treatise, my Lord," he said, and there it was again, the same embarrassment he had seen when Glorfindel had first entered the room. It seemed to him, that the boy had never been able to discuss such things with anyone he considered an authority, had never received the feedback he obviously needed.

"Have you now?" asked Glorfindel in genuine surprise. It was a long, drawn-out account of the military strategy of wars in the First Age, not exactly the typical reading material of such a young warrior. "You are brave indeed, then," he chuckled and Legolas smiled, loosing some of the tension in his shoulders.

"You are one of four warriors that are to stay here for six months, correct?" asked Glorfindel rhetorically.

"Yes, my Lord."

"What is it you hope to achieve?"

"I - "

"Come, don't be shy!" he encouraged.

With another, self-conscious glance, Legolas answered as he always did when asked the same question.

"I want to be a Captain…"

"Ah! You are ambitious then!" said Glorfindel. "I am unaware of the workings of Thranduil's militia but here, in this Noldorin haven, only the best are chosen to lead, Legolas. You must have both innate qualities _and_ skill - the question is - do you have these things?" he asked challengingly.

Legolas, for the first time, held the lord's gaze and Glorfindel found himself surprised at the conviction behind them. Gone was the embarrassment and the self-consciousness, replaced now with what suddenly appeared to be a different elf.

"Yes," he said evenly, before continuing. "In The Greenwood, it is the Sindar that boast the privilege of leadership. There are few Silvan captains, and most of them do not serve in the field at all. The rift is becoming too great, my Lord…"

Glorfindel leaned forward. He was fascinated, for if he had not misunderstood, this child was aspiring to changing the world, no less.

"You consider yourself Silvan then?" he asked lightly. The syntax had been interrogative, but not so the tone.

"Yes. It is where I was brought up, the people I call family, the culture that was bestowed to me. They have but village leaders to defend their rights - 'tis not enough in our changing forest. The Sindar are slowly but surely turning our identity into a thing of the past, a lesser people, more rustic, less _valid_ …" he said almost pleadingly. The words had been passionate and heart-felt, and Glorfiindel stared now, into the strange green eyes of The Silvan. Elladan was right - there was something strange about him, something below the surface. Elrond had felt it, Elladan seconded it and now, Glorfiindel, could do nothing but agree.

But then a thought occurred to him. "Have you never seen Oropher in all those books you have read?"

Legolas scowled, before answering, "No - never. We have a limited library in my village, but no - nothing."

Glorfindel leant back, his suspicions confirmed. There _had_ been a conspiracy amongst the Silvans - they _had_ known, and they had sheltered him, there was no other explanation, for Oropher had his own treatise, had been a king and renowned warrior - it was impossible to not come across a rendering of him.

A sudden thought occurred to him and he stood, holding out a hand. "Come," was all he said, and Legolas slowly rose, hiding his discomfort as he did so, unaware that Glorfiindel had seen it.

Slowly, they left the room and Legolas looked around worriedly.

"Fear not. Should Elrond find us, I will tell him it is all my fault," smiled Glorfindel.

Legolas smiled back and nodded as he slowly followed the one he had revered for all his life - it was simply unbelievable that he was here now, walking behind him, he had so many questions, so many…

They stopped before a mural and after a moment, Glorfindel pointed to the blond warrior atop the outcrop, standing aside to watch Legolas as he came closer.

The transformation was immediate, for his face became taut and his eyes wide and too moist, a slight hitch in his breathing and a step backwards as if burnt.

"That is your grandfather, Legolas. My brother. Be proud - always be proud to share his blood," he whispered as he watched. The boy stepped forward once more and brought his face up against the wall.

"How is it possible?" he whispered, to himself it seemed as he continued to stare in shocked fascination.

He lifted a trembling hand to the painted figure but stopped short just before it touched the cool stone. "His eyes are _blue_ ," he said finally.

"Yes," smiled Glorfindel. "It is, perhaps, the only difference, is it not?" he asked invitingly.

Legolas turned to face Glorfiindel then, the light of nascent understanding changing his expression once more. "It is strange, is it not?" he asked softly, "that I had never seen him before…," he finished, his eyes almost begging the ancient warrior to gainsay him, but Glorfindel did no such thing.

"Yes - it is strange," he answered, his eyes fixed meaningfully on Legolas. The boy had guessed at the implications, but said no more and so, with a kind hand upon his shoulder, Glorfindel guided Legolas back to his bed with the promise that tomorrow, he would be free. And as the ancient warrior made his way back to his own rooms, he allowed his mask to fall and his face to show his true emotions.

Deep puzzlement, anger, apprehension, and pure, unadulterated _excitement_ …

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And so it was, that the following morning, Legolas donned his new, tailored clothes, and walked together with The Company to the shared dining area, where breakfast was currently being served.

As they walked ever closer to the din that echoed down the hallways, Galdithion tugged on Legolas' new garments, the rest sniggering at his antics.

Legolas glared at him as he pulled them back into place, smoothing a hand over his newly washed and braided hair. Lainion had offered to put the Avarin locks back in, and the The Company had insisted he accept, claiming it would attract the lasses, not only to Legolas but to them all.

Idhrenohtar had not wanted to comment, but his friend looked simply stunning. None of them had ever worn clothes of such fine quality, indeed the tailor had clearly made an effort to fashion their clothes in the Silvan style, slightly more daring than the typical, symmetrical Noldorin lines. That, together with the exotic braids and his stunning, green eyes were a recipe for turning the eye.

Soon, they came to the threshold of the dining halls of Elrond's court, where The Company, together with the remains of The Greenwood's escort, had taken breakfast for the last three days as they waited for Legolas to recover. They had turned a few heads, being foreigners from Thranduil's realm, but today, the room fell as silent as the void as they stared at the six warriors in unashamed curiosity.

Legolas, far from showing any discomfort he felt, steeled himself as he scanned the room, quickly sporting Galadan, who waved them over. Relieved, and duly impressed, Idrenohtar and The Company, followed him to the Greenwood table and saluted Lieutenant Galadan.

"Morning, Sir," said Legolas.

"Morning boys. Welcome back, Legolas," he said with a nod and a keen eye that searched for any lingering weakness.

"Thank you, Sir," said Legolas, his eyes momentarily alighting on Silor, who sneered into his plate. He said nothing though, and Idhrenohtar was glad of it, for after all that had happened, he was not at all sure Ram en Ondo would be able to rein in his temper, indeed his own threatened to snap every time he looked at the Sindarin fool.

Legolas looked relieved, he mused as he began his meal. He was probably just glad nobody had referred to his secret - well, secret no more - they had all treated him as they had done before, if not will a little more respect, if silence could thus be interpreted. Yet the undercurrent, the rampant gossip and unveiled curiosity was nigh on suffocating, and Idhrenohtar did not envy his friend at all.

Conversation had slowly picked up once more, but the surreptitious glances had not stopped, and the stilled conversations were evident to any who wished to look, and Idhrenohtar did. They would be talking of Legolas, Thranduil's bastard son, of the story behind his begetting, yet he still had no idea of how they would have taken the news. Would they respect him? Despise him? It was impossible to say, but he would watch, and he would learn, and should any step out of line - well - The Company would see to his safety, would suffer no slight to their friend.

Elrond and his sons sat at the head table together with Prince Handir and Lord Erestor, he noted, while Lord Glorfiindel sat to one side, together with Commander Celegon of The Greenwood.

They all talked as they ate, but from time to time, their eyes would swivel to Legolas' table, only for a brief moment, not enough for his friend to notice, perhaps. Even the ladies cast their calculating eyes on him, wondering no doubt, at the status this Silvan warrior would someday enjoy. 'None!' he scoffed to himself - the Sindar would never allow that, would never condone the presence of a bastard prince - a _Silvan_ bastard prince.

"Good morning," came the deep voice of Elladan, who stood before the table, and specifically Legolas. They all made to rise but a subtle gesture had them all sitting once more.

"Will you join us, my Lord?" asked Galadan dutifully.

"No, thank you, Lieutenant. I wished only for a word with your warrior here," he gestured to Legolas.

"Of course," said Galadan with a lingering stare, before nodding and returning to his breakfast.

"Legolas. My father has asked to see you, after breakfast in his study."

"Of course, my Lord - if someone will lead the way?" he asked with a smile.

"I will accompany you," said the Noldorin Lord, "in exchange for one of those sticky buns - there are none left on my table…" he lamented.

Legolas stared for a moment, and then a giggle flew out of his mouth before he could check it, sending the table into silence once more.

Idhrenohtar resisted the urge to roll his eyes at them, before passing the plate to Elrond's son, who nodded, and then hooked a particularly large bun and slowly, stuffed it into his mouth.

"You make them look so good," said Legolas, his own eyes now on the treat, debating, it seemed, whether or not to take one himself.

"Try," came the muffled word and Legolas giggled again, only this time Elladan had been caught unawares and made to laugh himself, only for a chunk of the sticky bun to fly out of his mouth.

Mortified, he held his hand over his mouth but it was too late, Legolas collapsed into peels of laughter, setting the rest of the Company to chuckling - even Galadan smiled as he shook his head at them.

Elladan smiled as he chewed on the overly-large ball of food in his mouth, and Idhrenohtar was inexplicably glad of it. The Noldo had seemed so distant and cool, yet here he was, spitting his bun and laughing along with the rest of them. Idhrenotar decided then, that he liked this son of Elrond, and he rather thought Legolas did too. He had saved his friend's life, found him and brought him back to them and for that, the Wise Warrior would be ever grateful.


	31. Second Awakening

Author's notes:

Hello everyone! OK, my family visitors have gone and I am alone again, free to read and write!

Guest 1345: keep smiling :)

What's a sticky bun? Have you never had a sticky bun? This must be remedied! It is a delight to the taste buds, a ball of fluffy, sticky sweetness that must be washed down with three cups of tea :))))

Ran Ran - yes, and I know I am not alone in imagining Legolas as Oropher

Sparky TAS - thanks for the help, much appreciated!

Rita Orca - sparring? Oh yes - yes, yes, yes - lots of that coming up

Chapter thirty-one: Second Awakening

Breakfast was over, but the stares and the whispering were not. Imladris was afire with gossip and hearsay, and everywhere Legolas went, silence followed, and then came the whispers and the lingering stares. Thranduil's bastard child was the subject of every conversation and a heavy weight settled upon Legolas' chest, for what would his king think? His secret was now common knowledge in a land that shared but cursory relations with The Greenwood.

With a deep breath, Legolas watched as Elladan knocked upon the solid, carved oak of Elrond's inner sanctum - his private study, and as the doors opened, Legolas found himself standing before the Lord himself, Glorfindel and Erestor at his shoulder. Behind, Prince Handir, Lainion and Commander Celegon stood together, and Elrohir who sat alone upon the window seat, looking apparently unconcerned, was soon joined by his twin brother, Elladan.

They looked regal, splendid and old, wise and all-seeing and for a moment his courage wavered. These Lords had fought in the Last Alliance, had known his grandfather, had seen the face of Sauron, had marvelled at the sights of the Hidden City - fought Demons of Morgoth… and here, was Legolas, Silvan warrior with no rank and no title, no family name to add to his own.

He bowed before Elrond silently, meeting the grey eyes squarely, allowing the lord to see his apprehension, for he would, Legolas knew. What good would it do to hide it save to make himself appear even younger and more inexperienced than he already was?

"Your first day of freedom, Legolas. How do you feel?" asked Elrond kindly.

"Well, my Lord, thanks to you and your household," he said, and Elrond nodded, before gesturing to a seat.

His eyes begged to wander, to relish the artwork that hung on the stone walls - paintings, murals, tapestries, carvings - his fingers itched to touch it, but Elrond had other plans, it seemed. There was nothing for it, this he had known from the moment Elladan had summoned him. He was uncomfortable, nervous, completely ignorant to how they would react to their newfound knowledge of his heritage, except for Glorfiindel, with whom he had spoken just the day before and had unexpectedly found a sympathetic ear.

"As you know, Legolas, it has come to our attention that you are the son of King Thranduil, born outside the bounds of matrimony. As such, it is important, from a diplomatic perspective, that Imladris should be made aware of certain issues that may affect our dealings with those of The Greenwood." He paused here for a moment, his eyes watching Legolas for a reaction before continuing.

"I want you to know that whatever is said here, today, will be done so with the sole purpose of adopting an official stance on your existence. I know," he added quickly, "that sounds a little cold and that is not my intention, Legolas. Indeed it is important to me - to us, that you understand the political ramifications of this situation.

Again, he paused but Legolas remained silent, his eyes fixed upon Elrond.

"We know that you have been aware of your heritage for a few scant days, and that perhaps you have not had the time to truly understand how this may change things."

It was only now, that Legolas reacted, and in no uncertain terms. " _Change_ things? Why would it change things, my Lord? I want nothing from my father, I claim nothing…"

" _You_ \- do not, no. But what of your father, Legolas? What if _he_ \- claims _you_?"

Legolas sat speechless, for truth be told he had not thought of that at all.

"Why _would_ he?" he asked simply, albeit a little insecurely. "I am the result of an illicit affair, my begetting will be deemed shameful - I expect nothing but scorn, my Lord."

He had riled himself, for although he had not raised his voice his intonation had become more acute. Was it not obvious that he would not be made welcome?

It was Elrond who stared back at him now, and when he answered, he did so carefully, yet the tone of authority was clear for all to hear.

"Have you had the _time_ to come to that conclusion? - to honestly _think_ on it? Or are you speaking from the heart, Legolas?"

Legolas startled at the question, but he held his tongue and forced himself to think. He looked to the floor for a moment, clearly struggling to collect himself and reason through the fog of rising emotion.

"No - no my Lord. I have not had the time, and aye," he smiled ruefully, "I spoke from the heart. My apologies," he added.

"There is no need for apologies, Legolas. We are all here sympathetic to your predicament, are we not?" asked Elrond as he cast his eyes around the room. It was Lord Celegon who spoke though, realising perhaps, that it would take one from the The Greenwood to assure the boy.

"Legolas, it is as Elrond has said. I only realised myself a few days ago…"

Legolas frowned, "you knew?" he asked incredulously.

"Not at first, no, but your resemblance to Oropher is astounding. But it was when I saw you _fight_ \- that I knew…"

Legolas remained silent, and Glorfiindel straightened - intrigued now at Celegon's words, for although they had spoken extensively over the last two days, Glorfindel had been unable to draw out the Sindarin general on his thoughts on Legolas.

"How?" he all but whispered.

"I could not be sure, but when Lieutenant Galadan put it to me, I could not refute his reasoning. The resemblance, the skill with which you wield your knives, in spite of your age, your friends that protect you; all this and - and something else we cannot quite define…" said Celegon, his eyes wide and challenging.

Legolas swallowed, and then looked around the room, only to find all eyes upon him once more. He finally looked to Elrond, silently imploring him to continue, for he had no idea of what they spoke.

"So," continued the Lord of Imladris. "We know that your - the King, has been informed of your appearance during your journey here for it seems he believed you to be in Valinor with your mother…"

Legolas stared back, not quite sure what to say, for this much he knew, if nothing else.

"Alright, so am I right in saying you know no more?"

"You are right, my Lord." There was a defensive note in Legolas' tone that none failed to perceive.

"The question is," continued Elrond, "how will the king react?" he asked, and then waited.

"My father," began Handir, rising from his seat, "has spent the last centuries inside a shell, distancing himself from his surroundings. We thought it due to the departure of the queen, and the ensuing scandal, for the king's infidelity became known. We thought it was for shame that he had precipitated her departure, abandoning her adolescent children," he said, addressing them all as he spoke, but his eyes - his _eyes_ were riveted on _Legolas_ '.

"Now that I know, I believe his grief was due to something else - the loss - the loss of his soulmate - your _mother_ …" he said quietly.

Legolas' eyes had grown wide and round, the green irises shimmering beautifully, in quiet empathy with his half brother. _Lassiel_ had been the reason Handir's mother had sailed…

"And yet," continued the Prince, "and yet it was not my father's infidelity that sent my mother away…," he said softly, before turning to face Legolas, "it was not Lassiel - it was _you_ \- it was because Thranduil had conceived a child…"

Legolas' eyes filled with unshed tears before he stood abruptly, turning his face away from them for he could no longer stand the shame..

Someone had come to stand before him, between him and the door that now called at him to flee, to escape the unbearable weight, the shame, the guilt…

His eyes slowly travelled upwards, past the jewelled belt and the blazing sun upon a silver breast plate, and then to the face of Glorfindel who looked back at him meaningfully. 'Turn and face them,' he seemed to be saying.

And Legolas did, in spite of his swimming eyes and a face that felt too hot.

"Legolas," came the soft voice of his brother again. It was mellow and strangely beguiling and Legoals felt compelled to lift his face and meet his gaze, Glorfindel now behind him.

"It is what you _represent,_ that hurts, Legolas - not _you_ \- brother."

Legolas' eyes rounded in utter surprise - the shock of being called a brother leaving him speechless, and had he looked around him, he would have seen the soft smile of Glorfindel, the intent stare of Elrond and Erestor, and the bright, hopeful eyes of Lainion.

Handir, realising he had left the boy incapable of uttering a single word, took a step forward, his eyes riveted on the strange green eyes that watched him carefully, that shimmered like green moss below the crystal waters of a forest pool - so different from his own. But the face, the bone structure, the color of their skin and the set of their mouths was similar. It was the first time that Handir had truly allowed himself to look, and he saw his own fascination mirrored on the face of his brother as he, too, seemed to be mapping his face, noting the similarities and the differences.

When Legolas did speak, it was quiet and mumbled, and his sudden vulnerability sent a lance of pain through the hearts of the Noldorin lords that watched.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I am so sorry I - I never had a mother to lose but you - "

"Don't," began Handir, but he could not continue, for Legolas was muttering again.

"I am sorry for sending her away, for your pain, for every time you look at me you must…" he cut off, his voice wavering as a tear finally escaped his eye.

Handir took a step towards his brother and brought up his soft, manicured hand, touching his brother's tunic tentatively, just over the heart. Legolas turned his eyes to his brother once more, fascinated, it seemed, by the soft touch. He lifted his own, rough, calloused hand and tentatively, returned the gesture.

"All I need is time, Legolas. Time to disassociate my own misery with your presence. Remember, it is not personal, it is not you that I despise for the loss of my mother and the decline of my father. You are brave and beautiful, courageous like no other, or so I have heard, there are many that love you and that is due to your _own_ merits, Legolas. I am not your enemy, and in time, perhaps we can become the brothers we should always have been…"

Another tear dropped from the green eyes and Legolas met his brothers' eyes squarely.

"Brother," came the word, alien to his tongue, "you call me brother, in spite of it all?" asked Legolas in puzzlement.

"In spite of it all…" confirmed Handir with a soft smile, his own eyes now too bright.

A tentative smile dawned on The Silvan's face, and the shadows that had hung over his face seemed to lift a little, and the potted plant upon Elrond's centre table sat up and straightened its stems, unfurling its leaves…

A gasp split the air and the magical moment was gone, flying away into the early afternoon rays of sun.

They all turned to Celegon, Commander of the Greenwood's militia. Mighty warrior that he was, the startled, high-pitched sound that had escaped him did not fit his body at all, but the Commander was too busy stilling his frantically beating heart to feel embarrassed.

"What is it?" asked Elrond with a deep scowl.

Celegon ripped his eyes away from the innocent plant and faced Elrond. "That plant, upon your table - it - _moved_ ," he whispered, his face twisted in utter disbelief at his own words.

Elladan's head whipped towards the commander, the words echoing in his head as the image of the uprooted tree was back before his mind's eye.

"There is magic at work," he said so softly that some had not heard him at all. "Is there not, Legolas?" asked Elladan challengingly, as if only now realising what it was that had escaped him about The Silvan.

Legolas stared back at him, for what to say? _Was_ it magic?

"I do not know, my Lord," was all he said, for it was the truth.

"Legolas," ventured Elrond, stepping forward. "Do you have an idea, of what Elladan speaks?" he said, his eyes searching Legolas' for the truth of his words.

After a moment of silence, Legolas answered.

"Yes - I have an idea."

Another silence, long and awkward. This time it was Celegon who broke it.

"What happened, before we were ambushed, when Silor all but dragged you to Lieutenant Galadan claiming you had assaulted him…"

"I did not," said Legolas.

"I believe you," said Celegon. "My point being that you then claimed there was an attack on the way, one from the East and another from the back of the line, gainsaying our scouts."

"Yes," said Legolas again.

"How did you know?" asked the commander, taking another step forward.

With a deep breath, Legolas looked to the floor for a moment, before answering.

Some months ago, I came to realise that I am, what the Silvans call a ' _listener_ ', he began, his voice introspective but strong as he began his story. "A listener is one that is more sensitive to the voice of the forest - and yet," he paused, "I have come to believe this is not what my - _ability_ \- entails."

"You see," he continued, "it is not a voice that I hear - it is - emotion, emotions that my own mind puts into words, it is as if I speak to myself - indeed when all this first started, I thought myself on the road to insanity. It was Narosen the Silvan Spirit Herder that told me otherwise…"

"How," began Elrond, "how does this - ability - manifest itself?" he asked, his intellectual curiosity setting his eyes to shining.

"Well," said Legolas a little self-consciously now, Lieutenant Lainion has seen it happen, as have my closest comrades - even Silor has seen it - he called me _spawn of morgoth_ …"

Elrond's eyebrows rose to his hairline, and Legolas continued as best he could. "My eyes - my eyes shine - from the inside…" his voice dropped off, his eyes apologetic.

"Well!" gasped Celegon, but Elrond needed to know more. "What is the relation to what Celegon just saw?" he asked.

"I believe, I believe that I share an energy with the trees - it is inside me but more than this, I too am inside them - does that make sense at all? They feel my distress, my joy…"

"Valar," whispered Glorfindel while Handir blew out a long breath.

"I can say no more, my Lord, for I do not understand it myself, but what I do know, is that it seems to be advancing. Every time it happens the feelings are clearer, the words they evoke more precise, and the physical manifestations of my emotions become clearer."

"I would like to research this, Legolas, if you do not mind. It may help you to understand it - would that be helpful to you?"

"Of course, my Lord. I would be - so grateful for I confess I am still - somewhat fearful of this - thing I have no name for."

"It is a gift," said Glorfindel. "You could have avoided that attack, if your gift had been known, had you been believed. That is an asset to any army, Legolas."

"Yes, I know, my Lord. It is also a potential threat to my integrity, as Silor's reaction proves.

"Silor is a _fool_ ," spat Celegon. "Whatever happens, Legolas, whatever our king decides, I will always be glad for your service," he said with conviction. "I will help your cause, in any way I can," he said, his eyes seconding his words.

Legolas' head rose and he bowed to his Commander General. "You honour me, Commander. You will always have my service, to whatever end."

Celegon smiled. "I will remember that," he said.

"Well, we are still left with the question of how Thranduil will react to all this - any insight, Handir?" asked Elrond, redirecting the conversation.

"As I said, the king changed when the queen left and as to whether this situation has changed that I cannot say. There are, I believe, two possibilities. One - that he sinks further into grief, for I would wager Legolas' appearance suggests the death of Lassiel. If that should be so, I fear he may resent Legolas, see him as perhaps having precipitated her demise. Or, the opposite may happen. He may see in Legolas, a son that will speak to him, that will respect him, that will forgive his transgressions and not judge him every single day of his life…," it was Handir who now turned, battling with his own emotions, for he had spoken of himself and his brother, Crown Prince Rinion.

"Is that what it is like?" asked Elrond. "Is that the short of your relationship with your father?" he asked carefully.

"Yes," he said quietly, "that is the short of it. The love and the laughter died the day our mother abandoned us. She just - left - left us because her husband had conceived a child with another lover…"

"And yet you blame your father…" coaxed Elrond.

Handir stared at him for long moments, before he spoke once more. "Yes. I blame him because had he loved her and not Lassiel - my mother would still be here, we would still be a family."

"You blame your father for not loving your mother, then? Is that it?"

Handir checked himself again, helped by the steadying hand of Erestor at his side.

"Yes!" he said, his voice loud and resentful. "Why did he marry her if he did not love her? And if she knew that he did not, why did she accept? It was a farce, perhaps? One they camouflaged as a happy marriage?"

"It was an arranged marriage, Handir. Created for the good of The Greenwood, for the good of the people - it is what they expected of their king, it was what King Oropher expected his son to understand…"

Erestor spoke for the first time then. "So, King Thranduil married a Sindarin Lady of noble descent, to content the people - the Sindar - for I doubt the Silvans would have minded he marry a lowly elf with no heritage," he said rhetorically.

"No, but perhaps, Erestor, it was a bargaining tool. The Sindar minority, those close to Bandorion, Oropher's brother, would have pushed for that, in exchange perhaps, for political concessions," explained Glorfindel.

"Yes, that is very possible," said Erestor as he turned to Handir. "You cannot blame your father for marrying one he did not love, not if it was an order. Your mother would have known this - would have accepted it. It was, perhaps, her pride that suffered the most when she heard of the child…" he added carefully.

"She would not have left for pride, Lord Erestor, she would not have left her children for _pride_!" said Handir, his voice louder now as his anger at the implications began to break down his defences.

"You cannot know that, Handir. You loved her and I do not doubt her love for you, but she DID leave, or her own accord - she left. Your father did not send her away…"

"And what would you know?" said the prince cuttingly, turning on Erestor, who looked back at the now irate prince with sorrow. "You dare to make conjectures on something you cannot know?"

"I do, Prince Handir, because these conjectures can be inferred from the facts - it is not necessary to have lived the events to conclude thusly."

Handir stared back at him, as if he wished the councillor would continue so that he could give free rein to his anger, but Erestor had been clinical in his approach and Handir stepped backwards, as if he had been burned, for the realisation that his anger had been ill directed, the mere possibility that he had blamed his father all this time when he should have blamed his mother, or Bandorion. Had he truly been wrong to treat his father as he had? Hold his own father's head under the mirky waters in which he already swam.

"So what now?" asked Glorfindel. There are two ways for the king to react. Lose himself in grief at the implied loss of Lassiel and do nothing, or react and accept Legolas as his son," he said.

"Rinion," interjected Celegon. "Prince Rinion will never accept Legolas as a brother," he said confidently, sure of the truth of his words and Handir could only nod in agreement.

"Rinion is not king, Thranduil is. He will do as his father decrees," said Glorfindel.

"Either that," said Handir, "or he will rebel, turn to Bandorion - my father may not wish to risk that."

"The conundrum is deep," said Erestor. "I believe," he said, "that we should wait. We have six months here, to work with Prince Handir and Legolas. Surely news will arrive from the forest before that time is up."

"That is wise council, I think," said Elrond. "It is decided then. We will wait for news and speak again. For now, Legolas, I would like to work with you for the next week on this gift of yours. It will give you time to heel before you begin your training with Glorfindel. And," he added almost as an afterthought, "Legolas - whatever happens, whatever news comes from your home, you will always have sanctuary here, should you wish for it."

Legolas turned to the lord and bowed. "How can I thank you for all you have done for me? How can I be of service to your family?" he asked.

"All in good time, Legolas. One day, when you are captain and the Silvan people have regained their place in the forest. One day I may call upon you," he said, his voice distant and his eyes unfocussed.

Legolas watched in fascination as the lord's eyes sharpened once more and he smiled reassuringly.

"This meeting is adjourned," he said formally, before nodding to them all and walking away, alone with his thoughts.

Glorfindel nodded at Legolas, before following Elrond and soon, all had left - all except Handir and Legolas.

Legolas turned and sat heavily in a chair, a soft sound of pain escaping him as he did so. Too long on his feet and in tension had set his wounds to aching.

Handir turned from where he stood at the window. "Are you well?" he asked softly.

"Aye. It is just - that was - "

"I know," came the soft answer.

"Legolas. I wanted to - apologise too. This must have been hard on you…"

"It was, but that is not your fault, my Prince."

"Handir, just Handir here, brother, when we are alone with nothing to condition our behaviour…"

"Alright," came the soft response after a moment.

"Legolas - what do you remember? I mean, do you remember her? Your mother?"

Legolas held his brother's gaze for a moment, before his eyes moved to the side and unfocussed.

"No. I remember nothing of my early childhood, Handir. I have no recollection of a time before I could walk and talk. It is as a blur - opaque glass behind which there is only light."

"It is strange," mused Handir as he listened.

"I know. And yet - the other day when I lay in bed with a fever - a dream came to me," he said, as if he had only just remembered it. "I was a babe, lying in the arms of a sentinel - It was bliss, pure, unadulterated joy and when I looked up to the gnarled bark and the infinite trunk that reached up to the sun itself, I remember calling it 'mother'…"

Handir's brow furrowed minutely as he stared out of the windows.

"You are full of surprises, brother."

The spontaneous huff that left Legolas made Handir turn to face him. "Unfortunately, that is so - I scare myself sometimes," he said truthfully. It is unnerving to have this - thing - and that it should change and - progress in ways I can never foresee. I wonder if Elrond really can help me with it…"

"He will, Legolas."

There was silence again but this time, it was comfortable - relaxed. "Handir… what you said, about Rinion…"

"Yes," said Handir, his eyes sharpening once more.

"Perhaps if he knows I am not a threat - that I want nothing…"

"That first, yes - but it will not be enough, Legolas. He is under the influence of his great uncle, Bandorion. It will not be easy to pry him from their greedy embrace. They have worked hard to win him over; they will not give him up lightly - he is their ticket to power."

"Then," said Legolas, "we have our roles so clearly before us, do we not?" he asked with a smile. Handir cocked his head in curiosity.

"I will stand for the Silvans, in the field, in the forests and you, you stand for justice - for everyone - in the council chambers. Perhaps we can achieve great things, brother," said Legolas carefully, the strange word leaving his tongue experimentally, indeed his green eyes watched for his brother's reaction.

Handir smiled. "Yes - that is a good plan. I will learn from Erestor and you, from Glorfindel and when we are done - The Greenwood awaits her prodigal sons!" he exclaimed a little playfully.

Legolas' smile was wider now, before it dropped a little with his next thought.

"I wonder too, what the king will decree. I admit I do not know what to think. Will he resent me, do you think? Be ashamed - even, banish me?" he asked in mounting alarm as the possibilities came to him.

"No - no I do not think so, Legolas. And yet I cannot be sure - I want to write letters but I believe it will be the king to do so first. We should wait, for soon enough he will send word - for good or for bad."

Legolas nodded thoughtfully, and then startled somewhat when Handir spoke again.

"Just remember what I said. You, are my brother, whatever the king dictates - and Elrond has offered you sanctuary here, should you need it."

"Yes," replied Legolas. "But I could never stay away - away from the forest, Handir - she is the only family I have ever known."

Handir's eyes were bright when he replied. "I know, and for that- I am truly sorry."

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

That night, Legolas sat with The Company and told them of what had happened during the council, and in another, distant room, overlooking the main waterfall that ran through the valley, Elrond sat with Glorfindel and Erestor.

The soft trickle of wine proceeded an appreciative sigh. "This bottle is extraordinary," mumbled Glorfindel before drinking once more.

Erestor smiled but Elrond remained introspective.

"I must speak with Galadriel about the boy…" said the Lord of Imladris distantly.

"Legolas? About his gift, you mean?" asked Erestor.

"That and more, yes," he said, finally focussing his eyes on his two closest friends. "There is a greatness in him, veiled yet by youth and inexperience."

"Yes," said Glorfindel, sipping again on his wine and savouring it upon his tongue as he gathered his words.

"He is Oropher's grandson in every way, Elrond, and yet there is more…"

"Yes," said Elrond softly. "There is something inside him, something too old to belong to him…"

"What do you mean?" asked Erestor with a scowl. "You are surely not implying he is a reborn?"

"No, no - that is not what I meant at all," clarified Elrond. "There is something - arcane - in his soul, a presence or perhaps it is this gift - it is attractive, irresistible, it is what others see in him that they cannot explain. There is deep empathy in him and yet it does not turn him to pity and sorrow but to rebel and to fight - to protect…"

"I can achieve great things with him, of this I am sure," said Glorfindel. "By all accounts he is an excellent warrior, in spite of his inexperience, and his mind is well-suited to command. I will make a leader of him, teach him of warfare and strategy…"

"And I," said Erestor, "will make of Handir a fine statesman. He is sharp and will learn quickly. He speaks his mind and is not afraid to show his emotions."

"I believe," said Elrond, "that in these two we have the makings of a new Greenwood, a stronger and wiser ally, a second awakening, perhaps…


	32. Home and Away

Chapter thirty-two: Home and Away

Author's note:

Hello everyone, and once again, thank you so much for keeping me motivated :)) And thank you, as always, to my guest reviewers - your comments are always wonderful to read.

Now for some politics and intrigue, AND the plot is starting to unravel. We finally get to read of Lassiel's fate. I must say, I admire one of my reader's incredible insight when she made a comment about this - I will say no more, but you may already know who you are!

This chapter is almost a chronicle of events that will lead us into the final part of this story.

In Imladris, Legolas is about to start his training with Glorfindel and the Company, and Handir will do likewise with Erestor. Meanwhile, in The Greenwood, things are changing and the wheels of destiny are slowly starting to turn…

And a quick reminder of our characters is in order …

The Silvans:

Erthoron - Village leader of Broadtree, Legolas' home

Golloron - Spirit Herder of Broadtree, Legolas' home

Thavron - Forester from Broadtree, Legolas' childhood friend

Lorthil - Village leader of Silver Vale

Narosén - Spirit Herder of Silver Vale

Saroden - Forester from Silver Vale, father of the two children Legolas saved from the flames

Amareth - Sister of Lassiel, Legolas' mother

Lassiel - Legolas' mother

The Sindar:

Lord Bandorion - Oropher's brother

Lord Barathon - Bandorion's son, Thranduil's cousin

Lord Draugole - Sindarin Councillor, close to Bandorion

Lord Aradan - Sindarin Councillor, Chief Advisor to King Thranduil

Prince Rinion - Crown Prince of Greenwood

The Company

Hwindohtar - The Whirling Warrior - Legolas - The Silvan

Dimaethor - The Silent Warrior - Lainion

Ram en Ondo - Wall of Stone

Idhrenohtar - The Wise Warrior

Rhawthir - Fierce Face - Galdithion

Lindohtar - The Bard Warrior - Carodel

Chapter thirty two: Home and Away

Imladris

The tree wavered in the soft breeze, and its dark, gnarled bark and long, knobbly branches reached around him protectively - he was _safe_. Green leaves unfurled and colourful birds flitted here and there between the boughs, their joy contagious. Delicate blossom petals filled the air, raining down upon him as he wiggled his arms and legs in joy.

He lay there, vulnerable and naked, a babe yet unable to speak, to walk; all he knew was her gift of love and protection.

It hums and it is comforting. He smiles and the woman in the tree smiles back, her long red hair undulating slowly around her beautiful face, deep blue eyes sparkling in pride and understanding, deep wisdom and love… she was no elf…

Bright green eyes snapped open with a gasp and Legolas sat up abruptly in his bed. It had not been a bad dream, but it had been strange… and then he remembered. He had had the same dream while he had lay fevered after the warg attack. It had not been so vivid though, for now he had seen a face in the tree, could still see it hovering in his mind's eye, for one never forgot such beauty.

There was no more sleep for Legolas that night, and so he made his way to the library, where he would stay until the Sun peaked over the horizon, and it was day once more.

It seemed like the blink of an eye to Legolas, so engrossed he was, and so he startled visibly as the Lord of the Valley glided into the room.

"Good morning, Legolas," greeted Elrond with a smile.

"Good morning, my Lord," bowed Legolas before sitting once more behind a long table in Elrond's fabled library. He had chosen a spot by the window, and had obviously been there for some time. His hair was dishevelled and his eyes a little puffy, signs Elrond would easily detect.

"You have been busy," remarked the lord as his eyes dropped to the table and scanned the books his pupil had been reading.

"I have, my Lord. I must take advantage while I can of the tomes you have here - I have never seen so many books on warfare," said Legolas, his eyes flitting from one book to another, as if he could not decide where to settle his eyes.

"Ah," said Elrond as he pointed at a leather-bound book. "Your grandfather's account of Beleriand," he said as he moved around the table.

"Yes. It is interesting, if not the best written book I have read," he smiled wryly. "It is no wonder I was never allowed to see this. My questions would have been - _uncomfortable_."

"Indeed," answered Elrond wryly, but before he could continue, Glorfindel entered, bidding them a fine morning and then sitting somewhat unceremoniously on a chair, his mind clearly on his own business, rather than the conversation he was interrupting.

"Now, I have drill and weapons training this morning. Is Legolas free to join us?" asked the legendary warrior, as if he did not care for Elrond's predictable answer.

"Not today, Glorfindel. Tomorrow perhaps and even then, no hand to hand for another week. I will allow archery and sword work, though.

Legolas smiled and his eyes sparkled in anticipation as he watched Glorfindel carefully, indeed the commander smirked at him. "You are looking forward to it?" he asked Legolas rhetorically, before adding, "you shouldn't…"

Legolas frowned and then cocked his head to one side. "Why would I not?" he asked carefully, but Elrond laughed and Legolas looked to the Lord for an explanation.

"Glorfindel here, is a slave-driver, Legolas. When he takes it upon himself to train a warrior he is ruthless and cold, unforgiving and so very demanding," he said lightly, chancing a glance at the now worried Silvan warrior.

"Elladan will fill you in, of course, won't he Glorfindel?" said Elrond sarcastically.

Glorfindel simply smiled, but there was an evil smirk mixed in with it and Legolas gulped, before reaching for another book and opening it a little too quickly.

"Don't frighten the boy, Elrond," said Glorfiindel blithely, "I give as much as they can take, no more - no less," he clarified, but Legolas did not answer and so Glorfindel's own eyes landed on the young elf appraisingly, he too perhaps, realising the boy had not slept. Soon enough, the ancient blue eyes wandered to the books scattered upon the table, flitting from accounts of battles to treatise and even to books on logistics and weapons design. He then glanced over a smaller book, one he vaguely remembered having seen before. It was open at the latest drawing Legolas had rendered in it - it was new and as his eyes registered the simple sketch, and then, quite unexpectedly, his heart skipped a beat as his brain laboured to understand what it was he was looking at, or rather _who_ he was seeing.

He stood a little too abruptly, but only Elrond realized, for Legolas was absorbed once more in his reading. The lord's eyes came to rest expectantly on his friend and Commander, a silent question in his eyes but Glorfindel could not tear his eyes from the table and Elrond scowled. Following the commander's line of sight, Elrond's own eyes dropped to Legolas' open diary and the simple drawing of a woman.

"Legolas," started Elrond softly, almost absent-mindedly. "Who is this you have drawn?" he asked as his hand moved the dairy so that it lay before him.

"Ah," said the Silvan, pausing for a moment before offering an explanation. Leaning back in his chair, he ran a hand through his loose hair and then started, as if only just realising he had not braided it. "It is a face I have seen in dreams. She is beautiful, is she not?" he asked innocently, before continuing with his studies.

Elrond's eyes briefly caught those of Glorfindel once more, and there could be no mistaking what he saw in his friend's eyes. This was no simple elf as Elrond already knew - it was a face he had seen many times in his books of lore, a face Glorfindel would have seen in the flesh. It was no slight resemblance though, and Glorfindel's shock was testimony to that. The drawing was, unmistakably of an Aratar, of Yavanna Kementari.

Elrond said nothing, and a slight shake of his head at Glorfindel silenced any questions his friend would ask the child. What to say? Legolas was fearful enough of his strange gift, one he had yet to understand. Yet in this simple drawing, both Elrond and Glorfindel, for the first time, came to understand the nature of it. This was no simple gift from the trees, it was not about an elf with a greater awareness or intuition of nature, for to Lords as old and as wise as Glorfindel and Elrond, there could be no mistaking the hand of the Valar…

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Elladan rounded the corner too fast for one who does not have his eyes fixed on the path before him. With a startled gasp, he narrowly avoided colliding with Legolas, who now stood wide-eyed before him, almost chest to chest.

After the initial shock had worn off, the Silvan giggled and Elladan smiled at the playful sound. "Forgive me," he said, "my mind was far away."

"As was mine," confessed Legolas. "It is a beautiful day," he remarked as his eyes took in the cold winter sun.

"Indeed, good weather for your companions to travel."

"Yes. They will be in colder lands soon enough," said Legolas nostalgically.

"You miss your home," said Elladan knowingly with a sideways glance at the warrior.

"I miss the forest, yes. But for now I would not change this for the world, my Lord. The books here," he said in awe, "the wisdom, all the things I have to learn…"

"Your excitement is contagious, my friend," said Elladan with a smile.

"This is my calling, my Lord. I only ever wanted to be a warrior - a good one."

"An admirable cause. I, on the other hand, although older than you, have not yet decided which should be my path."

"How so?" asked Legolas in genuine interest. "I thought you a warrior…"

"And I am, but I am also a healer and thus - I am torn."

"And why not be both?" asked Legolas in innocent puzzlement.

Elladan stared back at him and for long minutes he was silent.

"I had not thought of that," he said clumsily. "They seem, opposite and incompatible."

"Not so to me. To have a healer in the field is a great asset," he said conversationally, not quite understanding it seemed, that his words had thrown Elrond's son into stunned silence.

"Imagine, an army that has trained healers as warriors. Imagine the possibilities of immediate attention to those who are not badly injured, and that potentially could continue to fight with but cursory medical attention. Imagine the lives that would be saved for the speed with which the badly wounded warriors would be tended to - it is perfect. If I were a commander, I would standardise it."

Elladan was now staring back at the boy in shock. In one, simple phrase, Elladan's insecurities, his doubts, his inability to choose a path, had been summarily answered. He smiled, tentatively at first, and then wider, until his pearly white teeth lit up his face and Legolas stared back at him with a lopsided smile, oblivious, it seemed, to what had just happened.

Later that day, Legolas stood together with his new-found friend and watched as the Greenwood warriors took their leave of the Valley, bound for The Greenwood. Now, only he and The Company, together with Prince Handir were left and a sudden pang of homesickness assailed him. He missed the smells, the trees, Amareth and Thavron, he missed Erthoron and Golloron and fresh pea soup…

Commander Celegon made his way towards the silver-blond warrior who discreetly stood to one side and saluted him formally, much to Legolas' shock, for this was the Greenwood's supreme commander.

"Our Lord Thranduil will hear of your bravely, warrior. I will see to it myself. Take good advantage of your time here," he said, and then he leaned forward and lowered his voice so that only Legolas could hear. "Your father will be proud, I am sure of it."

Legolas, shocked at the commander's words could do no more than nod lamely, words refusing to pass his lips, and as they mounted and prepared to move, Galadan too, caught his eye and saluted so that all could see his gesture. Yet while the other warriors nodded in respect at the elf that had helped to save them all, Silor simply scowled, the promise of retribution clear for any who bothered to look. The arrogant Sinda would have to wait to become a lieutenant and Legolas was sure he would not take that lightly. Even Elladan would later comment on the Sindarin warrior's gesture of disregard.

"They respect you," said Elladan. "You have proved your metal, it seems."

Legolas looked at Elladan, at his noble face and open eyes. "Yes, and I am humbled at their generosity. It gives me hope that not all is lost, that the Sindar may one day remember how we all lived together in harmony, when no one was better than the next elf…

To this, Elladan simply nodded, but from that day onwards, Elrond's oldest son never again doubted what path he would take. He would be a warrior healer, and thus he told his father - and Glorfindel - for the perfect opportunity to improve his skills lay before him in the guise of six Silvan warriors who called themselvesThe Company.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

The Greenwood…

Lorthil of Silver Vale was deep in his memories, of a time long ago when he had first heard of the strange events that had led them to this pivotal moment, events he had not, directly, been involved in, but that had transcended the boundaries of Broadtree, only to become a well known secret, a secret the Silvans had protected fiercely. They never spoke of it, not even between themselves, for who could say where the enemy lay? From where the danger would come - for come it _would_.

It had been Narosen, the Spirit Herder, who had first recognised him less than a year ago, had first seen in the boy the undeniable evidence of who he was. On his first mission as a novice warrior, young Legolas had passed through Silver Vale, and had left his mark upon them all, for he had saved two young children from certain death and thus earned their regard. It had taken but cursory glances and knowing smiles amongst them for the word to spread. The time was coming, and the forest was _alive_ …

Lorthil took a steadying breath as he forced his mind back into the present, and then looked down upon the missive sitting in his lap. Turning it slowly, he admired the wax seal of the house of Oropher, before cracking it open and unfolding the crisp yellow parchment. His eyes momentarily landed on Narosen, the Spirit Herder who sat opposite him at their nascent fire. Beside them, Saroden, the head Forester knelt and watched as Lorthil opened the paper and read.

When he finished, his eyes were alight but his voice was soft. "We have been summoned to Thranduil's court."

"We three?" asked Narosen with a frown.

"No - _all_ of us. The Silvans…"

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Two days ride away, in the village of Broadtree, Erthoron opened a similar letter as Thavron the Forester and Golloron, the Spirit Herder, watched in trepidation.

"There is to be a summit," said Erthoron as he turned to his companions. He smiled then, wide and joyous, "finally - his time has come…"

Golloron smiled a proud smile, before turning his eyes to Thavron. The young forester was a childhood friend of Legolas' and had only recently been informed of the truth, the secret of the Silvans, for Thavron, just like Ram en Ondo and Idhrenohtar, had been left in the dark just as much as Legolas himself had.

Thavron had not liked it at all and had spent a week in silent brooding, marvelling at how they had all managed to keep the truth from him for so long. Finally, he had come to understand the wherefore of their subterfuge and had grudgingly accepted their deception as a necessary evil.

It was Amareth, that they all worried for now, and so they sat and pondered her predicament.

She had been summoned, in no uncertain terms, by name, and it left little doubt as to the subject of the king's enquiries. He must know, they said. He must have found out, for once Legolas had stepped foot outside Broadtree, he would not go unnoticed; anyone who had known Lassiel could not fail to see her eyes, and those old enough would see them upon the face of the first king of the Greenwood.

They could but trust to the king's forgiving nature, trust that he would not feel betrayed, that he could, perhaps see things for what they were. The Silvans had wanted to protect their child, a child that should have been a prince, a Silvan Prince, and if the Sindar had tried to avoid it, now was the time for justice. Legolas was of the forest, he was Silvan, and for them he should stand, just as they had done for him in his own time of need…

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

The Court of King Thranduil, Greenwood

While the Silvan and Avarin leaders travelled towards the city amidst an atmosphere of constrained optimism, Amareth had already stepped foot inside the fortress for the first time in seven centuries. She had remained silent for the entire time it had taken her two guards to deliver her, guards that had treated her with silent respect and furtive glances.

She had considered lying, and then she thought to give but a cursory telling of the events she knew Thranduil would now seek to understand. But then she remembered the Sindarin monarch she had meet many years ago. He had been strong and wilful, noble but unyielding. If she lied, he would see it and she could not foresee the the consequences of her deceit.

And what would be the point? She had then asked herself. There was no longer anyone to protect. Legolas' identity would be common knowledge soon enough, indeed she was sure the king already knew. It made no sense yet that did not mean the danger had passed. It simply meant that she, Amareth, could no longer protect him - but of course this, she had already known.

Her heart felt leaden and her stomach empty. What if Thranduil banished the boy? To appease the Sindarin purists? What if he imprisoned her for keeping the truth about Lassiel from reaching him?

Anxiety had taken a firm hold on her and try as she might she could not free herself of it. The only thing that helped to ameliorate its effects, was the promise of freedom. When all had been said and no stone left unturned, she could finally rest, finally let go of that which had turned her world dark; she could, perhaps, step into the light and live again…

This was it. The door lay before her, guarded by ceremonial Sindarin guards that stood tall and imposing and beyond, lay he who had been her sister's soul mate, the king who would have taken a Silvan peasant as queen, would have, had his loyalty to his king not come first.

Crossing the threashold, her eyes fell upon two elves. One, the king, just as beautiful as she remembered him, and beside him, Aradan, an elf she had met on many occasions when Lassiel had been courted by the king, and then after, when everything had turned sour…

"Amareth," came the soft voice of Thranduil, and she found herself strangely glad to see him.

"My King," she bowed respectfully, her eyes watching as he glided towards her, his arms open. Why her eyes filled with tears she could not say, but his embrace was comforting and she revelled in it for a moment, until he pulled back and looked at her.

"You bring memories with you, of lighter days…"

"I am glad to see you again, my King, she said sincerely."

"Thranduil. Here, there is no formality between us."

"Thranduil," she said with a nod before turning to Aradan.

"Lord Aradan - it has been long," she said with a forced smile.

"Aye, that it has, lass… you look worried," he said as he sat and watched her and her eyes fell to the floor momentarily before they landed on Thranduil.

"Should I be?" she asked quietly, suddenly unable to hold the king's gaze.

Silence stretched between the three before the king finally spoke. "Nothing you can say will endanger you, Amareth, yet there is deceit in your eyes…"

She closed them for a moment, as if she could shield herself from his scrutiny and yet she had known he would see it - the guilt.

"I - I do not seek to deceive you, Thranduil, not any more…"

"But you have," said the king confidently as he too, sat, gesturing for Amareth to do likewise.

"Yes - by omission, yes."

The king stared back, before briefly glancing at Aradan.

"Amareth," said Aradan as he leaned forward. "We know the child is here, on Arda and I must ask you this now. Is Lassiel dead?"

Thranduil breathed deeply, as if bracing himself for her answer. Perhaps he had already guessed, she thought, but suspecting is not the same as knowing and Amareth knew, that her answer would hurt him deeply.

"Yes…"

Aradan looked to the floor and Thranduil stared wide-eyed at her, as if she should continue but she could not, not yet. It was Aradan who drove the conversation forward.

"Tell us, then. Tell us why she did not leave for Mithlond as we had agreed."

Amareth struggled for a moment with her own emotions, for the memories were flowing back into the present in a rush of sensations. She needed to gather them, and put them into some semblance of order.

"She could not… That last conversation, in which it had been decided she would travel to Aman and give birth to your child - it set her to thinking, so much that she left on her own, into the deep forest to ponder her predicament; she could not be found for many days. Finally, when she returned of her own accord, we sat and we talked; me, Lassiel, Erthoron… She told us," Amareth broke off for a moment, swallowing thickly as she battled to keep the tears at bay. "She told us she was dying…"

The king's sharp intake of breath was enough to break her will and the first tear escaped her as she angrily wiped it away. Aradan rose to retrieve a decanter of wine which he placed before them all, just as silent as the king.

"She told us she would never make it, that she could not endanger her child, risk his life upon the road. She would have the child upon Arda, and then travel if she could."

"Here," said Aradan softly as he pushed the glass of wine towards her. His eyes then caught those of Thranduil. There was turmoil behind them, turmoil and shock.

"After all the scandal, and then her impending motherhood, she removed herself from the village and found a place for herself, a place no one would ever find, for her connection to nature was unusually strong - this we already knew. She hid herself away, and I, together with Erthoron and Golloron, saw to her needs. We provided for her in her self-imposed exile. She did not wish for company, only for silence and the company of the trees."

"Why did you not come to me for help?" murmured the king.

"She forbade it. She would not tell you of her decision to defy your will, she would not prolong your suffering with her presence upon Arda. She thought perhaps that you had found a measure of closure with our plan to sail, that you would be comforted that she was alive and that you shared a son, that you could hold to the promise of seeing them again."

"You should have told me…" he whispered.

"I could not. It was not my decision to take, Thranduil."

Silence met her statement, and so she pushed on, the mellow wine lending her a modicum of comfort.

"And so the child was born, and as he opened his eyes and looked out upon the world for the first time, it was not his mother he sought out but the tree that housed us. He held out his small hands, as if he could grab at the bark and he smiled, his stunning green eyes sparkling with joy. Lassiel cried for love, and Erthoron and myself looked on in amazement. We knew then, that he was special…"

"What do you mean?" asked Aradan in puzzlement, for neither he nor the king had seen Legolas.

"Aradan - when you see him, you will understand." She smiled then as thoughts of Legolas filled her mind. "A more beautiful child has never existed," she began as her eyes lost their focus. "When he grew and became a young adult he was simply stunning to look upon. His hair is silver-blond and so thick it cannot be tamed. His body is tall and strong and his eyes - his eyes are those of the forest, Lassiel's eyes."

"There is something else…" deduced Thranduil as he, too, sat forward, his eyes riveted on Amareth uncomfortably.

"Yes. Thranduil - when you see him, if you wish it," she ammended, "you will see your father looking back at you. He is Oropher in all but his eyes…"

Thranduil looked away, obviously torn in his emotions and Amareth rather thought he would be glad in that he had revered his father, had been a loyal prince to him even unto his own undoing. Yet there would be resentment too, for that which Oropher had denied him - it was a cruel twist of nature.

"Wait," began Aradan. "Before we continue with that side of the story, tell us of Lassiel's fate. Did she fade then, after the child was born?"

Amareth looked back at him in sadness, but the sadness promptly turned to anger and her jaw clenched.

"No," she said, her voice a little too loud, anger seeping past her defences.

Thranduil stood in a flurry of robes and looked down at her in askance. Bolstering her strength, she too, stood slowly until she stood before him, her eyes defiant.

"She was _murdered_ …"


	33. I Loved You Once

Author's notes:

Earthdragon - YES! very insightful, as your review clearly shows. You are right in your political analysis and I would like to comment on that.

They could well have made the presence of a child public in the hopes of discrediting Thranduil further. The question is, Thranduil is not unpopular with the Silvans, and they would certainly prefer him to the alternative and purist Bandorion, who would not be popular at all. They could ignore the child's existence too, but there would be no gain in that. The third possibility -to kill the child - is what actually happens. They feared that the Silvans may have seen the existence of a Silvan prince as a boon, a bargaining tool to political gain, and that would definitely work against Bandorion's interests. Could they risk that? This child emerging in the future to bolster the Silvan cause? Would this be worse for the purists than provoking a scandal that may not do its intended job? Hum…

As for who, how… the how we get an inkling of, but the who, for now, remains a mystery. The full story will not emerge until the end though :)))

Guests: thank you so much!

Rita Orca: the Aratar are the High Ones, the exalted, the nine most revered of the Valar.

SparkyTAS: thanks! going to correct that :)

The Company:

Hwindohtar - The Whirling Warrior - Legolas

Dimaethor - The Silent Warrior - Lainion

Idhrenohtar - The Wise Warrior

Ram en Ondo - Wall of Stone

Rhrawthir - Fierce Face - Galdithion

Lindohtar - The Bard Warrior - Carodel

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Chapter thirty-three: I loved You Once

The day had finally come and Hwindohtar and The Company would begin their training with Lord Glorfindel, revered Commander of the Noldorin army of Lord Elrond.

Unbeknownst to the Silvans, Glorfindel had resolved to incorporate them in his command training program, one of the few educational duties that Glorfindel was still directly involved in. He was too busy to train the troops as he once had, for most of his time was taken up with gathering intelligence and plotting the defences of the land. But that did not mean he did not enjoy the process of teaching an elf to defend his land to the best of his abilities, indeed it was a subject that fascinated the lord beyond all reasonable limits.

Anyone who knew Glorfiindel would say he was obsessive, a perfectionist; demanding and ruthless. Lord Elrohir had trained under Glorfindel, sufficiently at least, to be able to defend himself but there he had stopped, choosing instead to pursue a diplomatic career. Fighting, he had said, was a necessary evil, one he had come to believe he was not particularly suited to. Glorfindel had argued the point at the time, but Elrohir had been adamant. We would tutor with his father in the arts of healing and statesmanship.

Elladan too, had trained with Glorfindel and had gone beyond the achievements of his younger brother, only to become a recently promoted lieutenant. He was a passing swordsman but he had not moved past the mediocre and the commander had told him as much. Elladan had defended himself on the grounds of his own indecisiveness on his chosen road and Glorfindel had understood, however much he had been left with the frustrating sensation of not having brought out the best in Elrond's oldest - that there was still much the young Lord could achieve, if only his heart was in it. It had, therefore, been a shock when Elladan had sought him out the night before to tell him of the decision he had taken. This was Glorfindel's opportunity to fulfil Elladan's full potential and the thought filled him with excitement - that, and the challenge that was Legolas. Yes, he had resolved, he would teach his lord's son and his heart brother's grandchild and he rather thought he would enjoy every moment of it…

Legolas and The Company stood together, waiting for Lord Glorfindel as they had been instructed. All the commander had said was that they should present themselves here, at this were to wear leggings and boots only, braid their hair and leave their own weapons at the barracks.

Galdithion, or Rhrawthir, he reminded himself with a mental smirk, shivered for although it was sunny, it was cold and he found himself willing the Imladris commander to appear so that they may start the day's training, for standing still with a naked torso in midwinter was not comfortable at all.

As the newest member of The Company, he took the time to cast his eyes over the rest of his companions, pondering how different they were. Ram en Ondo was indeed, a wall of stone. Tall and bulky, strong beyond belief, he was an imposing opponent. His weapon of choice would surely be the sword, or the axe he sniggered to himself, if that were an elven weapon, or even a hammer.

Next to him, stood the lither Idhrenohtar. He was tall but lean, his muscles clearly defined, more graceful than his powerful brother. He would be an archer and perhaps knives would be more suited to his physique for he would be quick, and lethal. He rather thought the same of Lindohtar, the Bard Warrior - an archer, perhaps, yet his muscles were not so clearly defined and Rhrawthir remembered then, that he himself had only recently joined The Company.

Lainion, or Dimaethor, was a strange one indeed. His body was similar to that of Idhrenohtar but his skin was darker and his hair jet black, framing an angular face that hosted the deepest blue eyes Rhrawthir had ever seen. They were strangely slanted, lending the elf a daunting mien indeed - perhaps _he_ should have been named Fierce Face instead of himself. But then he had already come to realise that their warrior names were almost never straight forward. No, this Avarin elf was the Silent Warrior, for reasons he was, as yet, unaware.

Rhrawthir spotted the silver band upon his arm that denoted mastery in hand to hand combat. He admired it for a moment, before his eyes travelled to the only other elf that sported a similar bracelet.

Legolas, or Hwindohtar, was only a little shorter than Ram en Ondo, and although not as bulky, neither was he as lithe as Idhreno and Lainion. To look at him, it was not easy to guess his weapons of choice, indeed Rhrawthir knew only that he was a master archer. His He muscle tone was admirable - but this was not the body of a marksman - was it? How one so young could have achieved mastery in anything was beyond his ken.

As for himself, he was akin to Idhrenohtar, indeed he was skilled in archery, and a budding swordsman, truth be told.

"I am glad Lord Celegon agreed to let you stay, Rhrawthir," said Legolas quietly as they waited, pulling Galdithion from his musings.

"So am I," said Rhrawthir with an angelic smile that did not match his warrior name at all.

"And what of you, Dimaethor?" asked Hwindohtar. "You are joining us but you are already a lieutenant, you are way ahead of us novices," he stated.

"Well," said the Silent Warrior, "so is Lord Elladan as far as I know, and there he stands with the Noldorin warriors," he said as he watched the group with interest.

"True," said Hwindohtar as he cast his own eyes over the dark-haired Noldor. He was tall and broad-chested and Rhrawthir had no problems guessing his favoured weapon; Elladan was a swordsman, beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt.

"Here we go," said Idhrenohtar quietly as they all now saw the commander stride towards them. They watched him appreciatively, for although he was clad similarly to themselves, he wore an ornate leather jerkin over his bare skin, and the bracelet he wore was much larger than theirs - none of them had ever seen the likes for it was beautiful and strange - a remnant from Gondolin, perhaps.

"Gather round," said the commander simply, watching through slanted eyes as the Noldorin and Silvan warriors complied.

His blue eyes moved from one warrior to the next, marking their braided hair and the bands upon their arms. They stuck, momentarily, on Hwindohtar's hair, on the high bunch at the crown of his head - the only way he could keep it away from his face as Lainion, or Dimaethor had taught him. Yet still he did not speak as his eyes continued their quest for information on the warriors before him.

'swordsman, knives, archery, combat, pikeman…' He seemed to be categorising them all, analysing their physical form and their suitability to the weapons at their disposal.

"Six months," said Glorfiindel suddenly, "that is what you have to show your worth. Six months in which I will shape your bodies, bolster your minds and make you all that you can be. After that time, I will decide who is suitable for command and who is not. You Silvans are here for the ride- your own commanders must decide your fate although I will, of course, provide them with my recommendations.

You will all train with every weapon for the first month, after which you will choose two to specialise in. If any of you should reach a proficient level I will nominate you for mastery but be warned. Those shiny bracelets come at a price," he paused here for effect. "I want no mediocrity here, no half-hearted effort. I will have it all or nothing at all. Those of you who do not comply to my expectations will be sent with the rest of the warriors for standard training. Here, with me, you excel, or you leave," he said emphatically, watching them all carefully.

"Now, I want ten rounds of the field - go!" he shouted, wondering how many of them would misinterpret the purpose of this first exercise. Smiling to himself, he nodded at his weapons master, who began to set out the array of swords, knives, bows and pikes.

Legolas jogged briskly beside the rest of the company, all of who looked at him in puzzlement.

"Should we not go a little faster? Those Noldor will beat us to it!" scoffed Ram en Ondo but Legolas was adamant.

"No! That is not the point, Ram en Ondo. Commander Glorfindel did not set us a time limit - this is, I believe, a simple warm up, not a competition," he stated confidently. Indeed the Noldorin warriors were laps ahead of the Silvan warriors, except for Elladan who, although still in front of them, had slowed down.

Before long, dark-haired warriors began to arrive at Glorfindel's position, smiling as they gasped for breath, bending forward to regain their lost breath and Glorfiindel watched them with a critical eye. Elladan was the last of the Noldor to arrive, garnering for himself a few smirks that Glorfindel did not miss. It was the Silvans who jogged in the last, only to stand before him, their breathing although heavy, was not laboured.

"Why are you smiling?" asked Glorfiindel flatly, coming to stand before a Noldorin warrior.

"I am satisfied with my performance, Sir," he said happily.

"Why?" asked Glorfiindel again, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Because we came in first, Sir."

"And that was the point of the exercise?" he asked with an arched brow.

The warrior was rendered speechless and so he scowled as he listened to what his commander was saying.

"These six months are to determine your worth as leaders. I am concerned with your bodies AND your minds," he instructed evenly. "You must learn to interpret command, Melven Hadorion. This is not a competition in which there will be a winner and a loser. I may recommend you all for command, or none at all. Your fellow trainees are not your competitors, they are your comrades, fellow warriors - they are not a threat. Do you understand?" asked Glorfindel, his voice low and dangerous and Melven swallowed hard.

"Yes, Sir."

As Glorfindel turned, Melven glanced at his fellow Noldorin warriors and scowled, before turning to the Silvans, the scowl turning into a leer. There was hatred in that look that had not gone unnoticed.

"Now - we start with the short sword," instructed Glorfindel, gesturing at the warriors to pick it up. "Ten stances I want you to repeat until they are perfect. "Front, back, left, right, curve up, curve down, top cut, bottom cut, front swivel, side swivel. Do you have it?" he asked.

"Aye Sir," they shouted.

"Line up and begin, and do not stop until I tell you to!"

Thus the warriors formed a line and began their routine. Some went quicker than others though, and soon enough, the blades were flashing and turning at different moments as the warriors stepped forward and backwards, or twisted to the side. Glorfiindel walked slowly down the line, stopping here and there, correcting a stance before moving to the next.

Lainion was good, he noted, his basic stances solid. Galdithion was acceptable but Idhren and Ram en were very good and Glorfindel watched them as they worked, before nodding and moving on.

Legolas moved the slowest, so slow his muscles bulged and corded as he performed, his movements precise. A simple step forward turned into a measured move of power, before he pivoted to the side and executed an undercut, again, so slow Glorfiindel could see each move for what it was, each muscle as it moved limbs and torso.

There was, however, something off about his free hand.

"Check your left hand, Legolas."

"Aye, Sir," he said, his voice strained for although his movements were slow, the strength needed to carry out the moves was thus increased, for there was no inertia to lend power to the strokes.

Glorfindel turned, puzzled that such perfect stances should be undermined by a flapping left hand - strange, he mused.

Thirty minutes later, the warriors were coated in sweat, their chests heaving with the prolonged effort.

"Stop! Two minutes for water," he called.

The warriors groaned as they made their way to the large barrel of water, handing out the wooden cups that sat to one side and then guzzling the cool liquid as they sat.

Glorfindel knelt before them, watching them all, noting how some were in worse shape than others.

"Melven, Dorhal, Celeb, Brethil, you move too fast and the precision is lost. Sael, Bran, not bad but the swivel needs work. Elladan, Lainion, acceptable work. Ram en, Idhren, good work. Legolas, good work but be careful with that flapping arm," he said thoughtfully. Unfortunately, the Nolorin warriors laughed and the Silvans leered back at them.

"How have you acquired that strange movement?" asked Glorfindel, ignoring the mockery.

"It is because I am used to using two short swords, not one. My left hand misses the weight of metal, does not know how to compensate for the loss."

It was not the answer Glorfindel had expected, for wielding two short swords was an art that had been mostly lost - extinct even in the second age. It was, however, a discipline he himself excelled in, for it was not only about skill but about the mind - it was a martial art that required the heart and mind of the warrior, not only his brawn. If this was nothing but mindless defence of an otherwise sloppy performance, Glorfiindel would not have it and so he stood and took up two swords, his face thoughtful. Legolas watched him until he came to stand over him.

"Get up," said the commander, before handing him the two swords. "Show me your words are not a simple attempt to justify yourself," he said challengingly. The Noldorin warriors smirked but the Silvans, with the exception of Rhrawthir who had never seen Legolas fight, simply smiled as they turned to watch.

"Do it again, with two swords," said Glorfindel, who stepped back to watch, hands now folded over his chest in silent challenge.

And so Legolas did. Swivelling both blades forwards he began his slow dance, his head moving with the blades but his shoulders opposite to them, his legs well distanced, his steps smooth and powerful. He glided forwards, backwards, to the side and back again and Glorfindel watched in respect. With the first repetition came a new pattern. His left had began again, whilst his right hand began on the second move and Glorfiindel cocked an eyebrow in fascination. To sustain this pattern required much coordination and the concept sparked a distant yet ever present memory.

"Enough," he said, before turning to the Noldorin warriors, their smirks now gone. The commander said nothing for it was not necessary, but it was then that he knew; Legolas would be a great warrior, and Melven would, once more, be a problem. There was no respect on _his_ face at all, only disdain.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

'… _she was murdered_ …'

Thranduil shot up, his silver hair flying around his head, sweat beaded upon his pale brow, light grey eyes wide.

"Lassiel," he whispered, before raking a hand through his dishevelled hair and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

It was still dark as he came to stand by the long windows, the view beyond breathtaking beneath the full moon that illuminated the giant trees of the Evergreen wood.

'… _a single blade through the heart_ …'

"How you suffered for our love, died for it…" he murmured into the now steamy pane of glass.

'… _Thranduil… Amareth is right, there is a traitor amongst us…_ '

"A traitor, yes…. and when I _find_ him…"

Thranduil turned from the window, a look of such determination upon his face it seemed almost to have turned his beautiful features to stone, sucked the life from it, left it grey and grim for thus was the face of one who seeks retribution.

But as quickly as it had appeared, so it disappeared as his mind began to wander once more.

'… _when you see him, if that is your wish, you will understand…'_

The undoubtedly Sindarin features softened and the ice grey eyes darkened to a light blue.

'… _a more beautiful child has never existed…'_

The tired face smiled then, for the mother had been peerless in her beauty, her eyes…

'… _she was murdered…_ '

The now deep blue eyes closed slowly, as if to shield any who looked on, shield them from the cutting agony of his pain. He had known she was dead but now, he was plagued with the sorrow of knowing she suffered, was persecuted, and then executed - all for the love of him.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Three Sindarin lords sat together in a highly decorated chamber. The walls were strewn with relics of the past, of days of splendour and such finery that had not been seen for two ages. Amor, swords, pikes and flags sat together with vases, ornate candle holders, silver ware and sculptures, paintings of the high lords of old… it was a tribute to the past, and a statement in the present. This is the land of the Sindar, behold our might.

Bandorion, brother of Oropher, first King of the Greenwood - the greatest she would ever know. His brother had been strong, in every way. His heart had never interfered with his duty to his people, his own emotions had always been second to the love of his land, its people. Oropher had been the epitome of Sindarin strength and leadership. Alas, he had been cut down in battle, the result of Noldorin arrogance, and in his place had come his son, Thranduil, Bandorion's nephew.

The Greenwood had welcomed him as king, for the Silvan people had easily accepted a Sinda king who bowed to their every whim. It had slowly but surely, whittled away their culture, their race, and should it be allowed to continue, the Sindar of old would one day, be no more and in their place, a hybrid would appear, neither Sindarin nor Silvan, a sad memory of what they once were.

The three lords had sat in contemplative silence for many minutes, until Bandorion could no longer stand the sound of Lord Draugole's fingers rhythmically tapping on the table before them.

With a withering stare from Bandorion, the dark haired Sindarin councillor, Drugole, stopped and sat back but his eyes did not leave those of his lord, the one he believed should be king.

"Amareth is at court," said Bandorion simply. It was an unnecessary statement, for they were well aware of the presence of Lassiel's sister.

"Do we know why?" asked Barathon lightly.

"No. Thranduil is silent on the matter," began Bandorion. "It is strange that the king should change so much in so short a time and that Amareth should be summoned shortly afterwards, do you not think?" he asked softly.

"He _knows_ ," said Draugole in nascent understanding, his eyes widening as they turned to Bandorion.

"Yes - I believe he does…" said the would-be king.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

His dreams and contemplations from the night before still floated chaotically in his mind, but he could not allow them to affect him, not now when his son was about to arrive.

Crown Prince Rinion of Greenwood the Great, would tell him of his sojourn to the Eastern villages and then, Thranduil would tell him of his brother, his half brother.

The outcome of their meeting was no mystery to the king for he knew his son well. The only difference now, was that he himself had changed, had become a little more like the king he had once been so many centuries ago - this Rinion would not expect, and Thranduil would now have the unpleasant task of putting his son in his place.

Councillor Aradan had wanted to stay but Thranduil had been adamant. This task would not be easy on either of them, and the king did not wish to humiliate his son, however much he had to show him that his behaviour would no longer be tolerated. Even so, the king's closest friend and advisor had insisted on remaining close by and the king had not been able to dissuade him.

With a curt wrap upon the door, his son strode into the room, cloak swirling around his calves and his hand upon the pommel of his sword. He was cold and fierce - imposing, and Thranduil was momentarily impressed, and proud.

"Rinion," greeted the king with a nod. The Crown Prince bowed and then stood silently, no words, no joy at being in is father's presence and so, Thranduil began his strategy.

"Report," was all he said, and Rinion did. He told the king of his travels, of the people he had seen, of the complaints and the petitions he had received. He spoke of how he had handled it all and of the boredom he had endured and when he finished, he stood in silence once more, his eyes staring through the windows behind his father, as if he wished for nothing more but to be dismissed.

Thranduil watched him for a while, drawing out the silence, knowing the effect this would have on his over-confident son.

"You should be in the field, commanding our troops in the absence of Lord Celegon…"

"Yes," said Rinion, his eyes momentarily focussing on his father and lingering for a while, before turning back to the windows.

"You have been unfairly sent on a menial mission that another could have done just as well…"

Once again, Rinion's eyes sharped, a little longer, but again they wandered, and Thranduil watched.

"You were sent away for a reason. You were sent away because you could not be _trusted_ …"

Rinion's eyes snapped to his father, his brows furrowing deeply.

"You were sent away because you cannot control your temper, cannot control your _anger_ …"

"I…."

"Silence," said Thranduil softly with a wave of his hand, watching as Rinion flinched as though he had shouted the command.

"Much has happened in your absence, Prince, many things have changed," he continued, his eyes briefly glancing at his son, whose face showed his rising bafflement.

"Gone," he said, louder than his previous words, only to soften once more as he continued, "are the days in which a Crown Prince insults his king, sneers in the face of his Lord, gainsays his decisions, whispers in silent collusion with those that seek to discredit him…"

"You…"

"Silence," he said once more, a note of disappointment creeping into the cold words and Rinion's jaw clenched. Anger was beginning to take hold, as it always did with his eldest son.

"We sent you away so that you would not endanger this land with your own, self-centred, ill directed anger. Had you stayed you would have been a liability, and that does not speak well of your position at this court, my son."

There was no answer, and this time, Thranduil spotted a spark of fear behind his child's cold grey eyes. There, that was what he had been looking for.

"Whatever happens now, Rinion, you will comport yourself as is befitting a Crown Prince, with quiet dignity and respect for your king; no sarcasm, no hatred, only discipline - is that understood?" asked Thranduil softly, calm as his deep blue eyes riveted on his son's face, impressing upon him the importance of his words.

"Yes, my King," was the curt answer he received. It was enough and so he continued.

"The events of which I speak, those you could not be trusted with, are things that affect you personally, things related to the circumstances of your mother's departure…

Rinion's eyes were now focussed on his father, his eyes wide and expressive.

"Your mother did not leave me, leave us, because I had a lover, Rinion. She left because I had a soul mate, with whom a child was conceived …"

" _What!_ " was the uncontrolled shout that Rinion could not hold back.

" _Silence!_ " roared the king - louder and fiercer than the voice of his son as he came to stand but inches from his cold face, his eyes piercing his son's mercilessly, daring him to speak out of turn once more.

"Lassiel was my soul mate, the one I was forbidden to marry. Instead, your mother was chosen as a suitable queen and the rest you know. _Someone,_ " stressed the king meaningfully, "made sure the queen came to hear of the child and this she could not condone. Thus, she left me, her people and you, her son; she left us all for although she always knew I did not love her, was not my chosen mate, she could tolerate this in exchange for the favour of her sons and daughters. Yet once that was challenged, everything _changed…_ "

Rinion's eyes were round and bright and his breathing was too heavy. Thranduil felt pity then, pity for the strategy his own son's uncontrollable wrath had forced him to adopt.

"Now, you may speak," he said coldly, and then waited for the tirade that would surely ensue.

However when Rinion did speak, it was low and monotonous and for the first time, Thranduil saw deep emotion churning behind his frigid eyes.

"Did you never think of _her_? Were you too wrapped up in your love for Lassiel, too blind to the pain you would inflict on your _children_?"

"No - I was ever aware of it, I still am. And you? Are _you_ too wrapped up in your hate for me that you fail to see my pain? Too saddened by the loss of your mother that you cannot see it was _inevitable_? I lost the love of my life, sacrificed it for the good of this land, to appease the Sindarin lords, and in return, I gained your disdain - every day."

Silence followed for a moment before Rinion spoke once more and a solitary tear rolled down his cheek.

"I loved you once, father," he whispered as he desperately tried to check his emotions.

Thranduil came to stand before him once more, his own eyes bright, his face determined.

"And I still love you, my son," said the king with a soft smile, dismissing the stab of hurt that lanced through his heart.

"You may leave, if you so wish, but you are confined to the fortress for today. This conversation has not concluded," he said with a nod of dismissal before he turned his back on his son, knowing the cool grey eyes were watching his every move and so Thranduil stood before the tall windows and waited, waited for the rustle of fine cloth and the clank of lethal metal and then finally, the soft clunk of doors shutting.

Silence - and Thranduil closed his eyes, willing his frantically beating heart to still. It was true; he loved Rinion in spite of his disregard. He was too young to understand, to empathise with the one he believed had been the cause of his own misery; too young to see through the veil of suffering and to the other side, where another reality stood waiting, waiting for a time in which he could finally see it, and understand it. Thranduil would not blame him for that, for his youth and inexperience. He could only wait and trust that his heart was still good, trust that those loyal to Bandorion would not take advantage of Rinion's weakness and use it against them all.

But luck was not a contender in this game, and Thranduil knew then, that he would have to play it well if he was to regain his Crown Prince, know the love of his son once more and close the gaping wounds that stood open and bleeding between them.


	34. Qalma Liltie

Author's notes:

There were some great, critical reviews this time round and I hope to have addressed some of your comments. The story is at a crucial point where things will start to come to a head, and consequences will be had.

Hopefully you will start to see how fault starts to shift and spread, so to speak, a butterfly effect if you will, and those we thought unbreakable will show their weaknesses, because we all have those.

Ah, and please stick with Rinion - resist that urge to kick his butt :))

Guest reviewers - thanks, as always!

Chapter thirty-four: Qalma Liltie

Harsh footsteps echoed through the stone corridor and two guards shared a concerned glance at each other, before resuming their rigid, unmoving positions. Solid oak slammed into stone and then there was silence save for the soft patter of dust settling once more.

Rinion leant heavily upon a table, his breathing erratic and his mind in turmoil.

' _A child was conceived…_ '

How _dare_ he…. push his mother away, banish her in all but word, for what alternative had been left to her?

With a strangled moan, Rinion's hand closed around an ornate vase and hurtled it across the room, smashing it into small pieces, before whirling around and setting his hands on all that lay upon his bookshelves, pulling it all away, smashing it all to pieces, just like his father had done with Rinion's life.

Break it, break it all, shouted his mind as his eyes searched and his hands reached. Smash, break, tear it all apart….

Rinion sat with his legs sprawled out before him, panting and sweating, everything in utter disarray around him. He wanted to scream, to roar his ire to the skies and although he had broken everything that could be broken, still it was not enough and his jaw clenched furiously.

How could he have done the one thing - the one thing that would push her away; show his devotion in the clearest and most unequivocal way to another, one that was not _her_. For if he knew anything at all about his mother, it was that she loved the king beyond all reason.

His face hardened until it was chiselled ice and his eyes seemed lighter, the irises almost gone. Anger had invaded his soul.

' _I loved you once…'_

' _I love you still…'_

You love me but you sent her away, his mind screamed, as if his father could hear him; you sent her away as surely as if you had decreed it. Is the love a father feels for a child secondary, less powerful than the love of his soul mate? Is it? Is the love of a mother undermined by the love she feels for her spouse?

You sacrificed your soul mate for love of king and land, just as surely as you sacrificed the happiness of your own children.

How could _you_? How could _she_?

Rinion pulled his knees up and circled them with his arms and there, he lay his head and passed the day, his mind unable to release itself from the endless loop of incomprehension. Who should he blame for this mess his life had become? His father? His mother?

It had always been his father, damn him, and yet now, as soon as he had allowed his mind to ponder the question, the seed of doubt had wormed its way into his soul and he no longer knew.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Elrond glided into his office, Erestor and Prince Handir at his side.

"The rhetoric of it, Prince, is what will lend strength to your words, instil them upon those that listen to you, just as semiotics will back them up. For instance…"

"Glorfindel. You are - _studying_ ," said Elrond, and both councillors stopped short, their conversation summarily ending as they searched for the object of Elrond's disbelieving words.

Sure enough, Glorfindel sat amidst a pile of books, not unlike the way Elrond had found Legolas just days before. The commander's curt nod and ensuing silence was testimony to just how engrossed he was in his studies.

Elrond approached the table, while Erestor and Handir sat nearby, quietly continuing their own debate.

"Anything I can help you with?" asked Elrond as his eyes glanced over the books with interest.

"Qalma liltie …" murmured the commander as he worked.

"Qalma liltie," repeated Elrond, searching his mind. "Fell dance… ah," he said in sudden understanding. "You wish to _learn_ it?" asked Elrond incredulously.

"Already know it," muttered Glorfindel as he skipped through the pages of the book before him.

Elrond's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline at the dismissive claim, for to dance the Qalma liltie was a skill unheard of in this age.

"Then why are you researching it?" asked the lord in utter incomprehension.

"Moves I have forgotten…"

"Glorfindel, for the love of the Valar will you look at me for a moment," whispered Elrond in mounting irritation. "What is going on?" he asked.

Glorfindel breathed deeply and sat back, his blue eyes meeting Elrond's sparkling grey irises.

"There is another. After all these centuries, there is another who may know it…"

"You speak of the child? Of Legolas?"

"Yes, yes I do, Elrond. I do not know if he knows the entire routine, but there are moves that he performs in the stances that suggest he has some knowledge of it. We began short sword training yesterday and he was incapable of it. And do you know why?" asked Glorfindel, sitting forward now.

"No - why?" asked Elrond, his head slanting marginally to one side.

"Because he fights with _two_ swords, one in each hand."

"That was still relatively common in the second age, Glorfindel. It does not mean he knows the Qalma Liltie," said Elrond carefully.

"No, no it does not. But there is something in the way he moves, something measured and so precise, there is a discipline to each move that sets him apart from the rest. I have asked him to join me here to discuss it, for I will not do so in public."

Elrond nodded, his curiosity now thoroughly peaked. The Fell Dance was almost sacred to the warriors of old, to the Noldor and to a lesser extent the Sindar. Only the most skilled, the most disciplined of warriors undertook the art and even then, not all were allowed even to initiate it. It was not taught in the barracks, it was taught by masters who chose their disciples, once perhaps in a lifetime.

"May I stay?" he asked lightly. "I have questions of my own, Glorfindel. I will not disclose that of which you speak, you have my word."

Glorfindel held his lord's gaze, reading his intentions before nodding his consent and then turning back to his book. Turning, Elrond poured himself a sweet wine and cast his eyes over the rows of books sitting on the shelf before him, the ones Glorfindel had been browsing. Martial arts, all of them. Drawings upon drawings of stances, of moves and counter moves, of the different disciplines favoured in the different elven realms. Philosophy and meditation for warfare - even Elrond had not read some of these.

"You called for me, my Lord?" asked Legolas quietly, bowing before Elrond and then Glorfindel. Handir glanced over at his brother for a moment before turning back to Erestor.

"I did, Legolas." Only then did Glorfindel look up at his trainee, noticing his untidy hair and the loose white shirt he had thrown over his torso.

"You have been on the fields," he stated.

"Yes," was all Legolas said and so Glorfiindel insisted.

"Doing what, precisely?" he asked, his eyes firmly anchored on the silvan.

"Aerial work…" he said somewhat self-consciously.

"Aerial work," repeated Glorfindel from his seat.

"Yes, Sir."

"Well?" asked Glorfindel, somewhat irritated now at the boy, "can you - _elaborate_?"

After a short silence, Legolas explained as briefly as he could, a tactic Glorfindel saw for what it was.

"I use - aerial moves - in blade work and - hand to hand."

"What," said Glorfiindel curtly, "what _manner_ \- of aerial work?"

"Eh, well I, er."

"For the love of Elbereth, Legolas, out with it," said Elrond in frustration, garnering a frown from Legolas and a smirk from Glorfiindel.

"Legolas. Just say it - answer my question and leave your insecurities behind."

Legolas looked to the floor for a moment before facing the commander squarely and nodding.

"It is a strange mix of martial arts, one I have worked on for many years. By aerial work I mean acrobatics, used either to confuse or to avoid a blow, to deal with various simultaneous attackers or to dodge a sniper," he finished, again unable to meet Glorfindel's calculating stare.

"I intimidate you," was all Glorfiindel said.

"Yes."

"I like your honesty, Legolas. I will teach you - to be self-confident - it is not tantamount to arrogance…" he said, watching as Legolas' face told him he had hit his mark.

"We will address your training later but for now, I have a question for you. One you must answer with honesty. Only Elrond and I can hear and nothing will pass our lips.

Legolas frowned, and then nodded.

"Are you studying the Qalma Liltie?"

Stunned silence ensued. Legolas' extraordinary green eyes sparkled and widened as his mouth opened a little, his complexion blanching. He closed his eyes for a moment and then carefully answered.

"Yes," he said, closing his eyes once more, as if he expected to be shouted at.

Glorfindel watched him carefully, read his body language as his mind registered the answer he had been given.

"It is forbidden, Legolas, to study the Fell Dance without the guidance of a master…"

"I know," whispered Legolas in misery. "But I did not think I would ever find one, that the Dance had been lost to history. I did not see the harm in reviving something I will never be able to perform in public. I study it only for myself."

Silence again, and Glorfindel could see Legolas was uncomfortable. A wave of pity hit him then for this strong, beautiful warrior standing before him was expecting a reprimand. So very young, Glorfindel remembered then.

"Consider yourself duly chastised, Legolas. You have broken the ancient warror's code of conduct."

"Yes, my Lord," said Legolas in abject misery.

"And yet you are wrong," said Glorfindel, standing and approaching the miserable elf. "There is one who still remembers, one who danced it once, at the Court of Gondolin, and again - with Oropher _King_ ," he finally whispered, his eyes wide and challenging.

Elrond watched it all, intrigued at the play of emotions on both elves.

"How much do you want to learn it Legolas? How much will you sacrifice for the simple honour of becoming a master?"

Legolas' eyes were wide and disbelieving, and then Glorfindel watched in fascination as the beauteous features hardened and a look of such determination shone back at him. Gone was the self-conscious boy, for here, before him, was a warrior, in the purest sense of the word and it was only then, that Glorfiindel made his decision.

"I will teach you - if you _dare_ …" he whispered fiercely into Legolas' face where he stayed, his eyes echoing his words.

"I dare, my Lord. I want this more than almost anything…"

"Almost?" asked Glorfiindel with a frown.

"I want to be a Captain…" he said with a shy smile, and the gravity of the moment was finally lost as Glorfindel's features softened and he smiled.

"Aye, there is that," he said. "We continue with our training and after lunch, you and I will start out on this road. There will not be enough time to complete your training, but perhaps we can find a way. There is no rush Legolas, let us take things as they come."

"It is more than I could ever have dreamt of, my Lord," said Legolas quietly, solemnly, and then he bowed low. "Thank you, for giving me this chance - I will not disappoint you," he said, and Glorfiindel believed him.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Thranduil sat in silence as he sipped on his wine, his eyes unfocussed and Aradan watched him, debating whether or not to interrupt his moment of quiet introspection. He seemed miserable and yet even that, mused the councillor, was a vast improvement when compared to the block of solid ice the king had been but a few scant weeks earlier.

Of course he knew the object of the king's thoughts; Rinion. He had spoken to his eldest son and by the looks of things, it had not gone well. There was no surprise in that, of course, for Aradan knew the Crown Prince well. He was volatile, an elf of war rather than diplomacy, and if one combined all these qualities, well the result was simply - Rinion, he concluded lamely to himself.

"It went ill then," he said quietly, his eyes now anchored on the king as he drank.

It took a moment for the king to gather himself. Straightening his posture and focussing his eyes, Thranduil looked over to Aradan.

"As well as I expected it to. At least," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I have not lost my ability to impose respect," he finished with a humourless laugh.

"That is in your blood, Thranduil, you have quite an ability I will say that," said Aradan for it was true. The king had inherited it from his father - that envious ability to convey emotion through speech and semiotics. He had seen Thranduil quieten raving humans with but a wave of his hand and a quiet word.

"Was he much adverse to the boy then?"

"What? No, well, I do not know for the conversation did not progress well. We were stuck on the queen finding out about Lassiel's pregnancy - we got no further," said Thranduil, his eyes momentarily losing focus once more as he remembered the hurtful words his son had uttered.

"He blames you for it all, incapable of blaming his mother for her departure. It is easier because you are here," ventured Aradan, watching the king for a reaction to his risky analysis.

"And is he not right, Aradan? We took a drastic decision. To create a child we knew would grow without a father."

"True, but we had no way of knowing Lassiel would fade - with a child to care for, the concept was highly unlikely."

"Unlikely, but not impossible," said the king.

"No, but what was the alternative, Thranduil - death? It is about the better of two evils, nothing more, nothing less.

"And yet we were all victims, Aradan," mused the king quietly. "It solved nothing. Lassiel did not make it to Aman, the child grew an orphan, my children turned against me for my faithlessness and my queen suffered with my deception to the point of leaving her own children…"

"Welll, breathed Aradan, "when you put it like that, yes. But we did not have the benefit of foresight, Thranduil. It was the right thing to do at the time. Given the same circumstances my council would have been identical."

To that, Thranduil said nothing and Aradan was unsure as to whether he had calmed his friend or not.

The door opened then, and Rinion entered, bowing to the king before helping himself to the wine upon a side table.

"Am I free to leave the fortress today, my King?" asked the Crown Prince , his tone a little sarcastic.

"No. We have a conversation to finish."

"I do not want to hear it."

"I did not ask you," said the king curtly. "It is not an option, Rinion, but an obligation."

"I am uninterested in the lives of Silvan peasants."

Thranduil stood slowly and turned to his son. "Silvan peasants?" he asked quietly, dangerously.

"If you prefer Forest Dwellers…"

"Look at me, Rinion. You refer to our people with disdain. Tell me, what is it, to be Crown Prince? What do you believe is your duty to your land?"

Rinion turned to face his father and spoke.

"To defend them, give them the best life they can possibly have."

"And by ' _them_ ', you include the Silvan Peasants?"

"Yes, them, too.

"You talk as would a commander. A prince is not only a commander but a politician. You must learn it is not all about serving in the field, Rinion. It is about loving the people of this land, serving them, sacrificing yourself if necessary, so that we are all as prosperous as we can be."

"And you sacrificed yourself when you indulged in the love of another woman?"

"Oh yes - just that. You see, loving that woman was not a choice I made - you may understand that one day, when your heart sets its mind on a mate, in spite of yourself."

Rinion frowned, but to his credit he did not interrupt and so the king continued.

"I was forbidden to marry her but my father understood the wiles of the heart. He could not ban me from loving her for that was never in my hands. Instead, he asked of me a boon. Take a suitable wife and I would be allowed to see Lassiel, discreetly."

Rinion scoffed audibly. "What woman would ever accept that, marry you under those terms?"

"Your mother, Rinion. Your mother did."

The Crown Prince looked away, unable to answer.

"Why did you conceive a child with her? To humiliate my mother? To force her away perhaps, so that Lassiel could finally be accepted as your queen, is that it?" asked Rinion angrily.

Thranduil stepped back and forced himself to think for a moment. Was that it? Was that why Rinion was so bitter? He thought his father had flaunted Lassiel's pregnancy to force his mother away?

"Never that," said Thranduil, showing his son his concern. "I would never have done that, Rinion, this I promise. Your mother was a loving woman - intelligent and noble - she had my utmost respect child - she still does."

Rinion looked away, and for the first time, Thranduil allowed himself to feel a spark of hope, however remote.

"Someone else was responsible for that. Our secret became known to the queen, and shortly after, Lassiel was - murdered."

Rinion spun round, his hair flying around his face as he searched his father's face.

"What? You are saying there is a murderer here? The same person that told my mother of the child?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, that is what I am saying."

Rinion breathed noisily through his nose and turned towards the window, where he remained for long minutes.

Thranduil knew this was the moment to make his move, and with a short nod from Aradan, he picked up Rinion's wine and stood at his son's shoulder at the windows. Before them sprawled the Evergreen wood, the secret wood and for a moment, Thranduil felt peace descend upon his soul.

With a glance at his son, he offered him his wine. Rinion held his father's gaze for a moment, before his eyes dropped to the goblet and he waited.

'Take it, take the glass, give me this one gesture, my son…'

The cool grey eyes lingered on the goblet and Thranduil knew then, knew that his son had understood the gesture for what it was.

After an agonising few moments, Rinion took the glass and glanced at his father before turning away once more.

"You think me a child, incapable of understanding the intricacies of rule; ignorant to the suffering of others. You think I cannot see what others do, only what my own mind perceives," murmured the prince.

Thranduil was taken aback for a moment, but this was about honesty and he would not lie.

"Yes. That is what I think," he said, before adding, "am I wrong?"

"In part, yes. I know my weaknesses, father, and I know my strengths. I know what I need, and what I did not get - from _you_ ," he said.

Again, Thranduil was surprised. Had he truly missed this?

"Speak freely, Rinion. Tell me what you needed that I did not provide for you," he coaxed, albeit he thought he already had an idea of what his son would say.

"This," he said as he turned to face his father squarely, and Thranduil admired his strength then.

"I missed this one conversation. The truth, from your lips."

"You were not exactly inviting, Rinion."

"No, but I have the excuse of youth and inexperience - _you_ \- do not…" he trailed off meaningfully.

"No, that I do not. But my sadness was akin to grief, Rinion. Do not underestimate its power. I was immersed in the depths of my own misery, fuelled by the rejection of my children. An endless circle that feeds itself with its own shortcomings…I knew my queen was safe, and I thought Lassiel was too. I would not fade but I was bereft - of everyone I had ever loved…"

"Then why now, when you have heard she is dead, why do you not fade?"

"Because in some way, I knew but could not accept. Something told me she was not alive and I preferred to retire from the real world and immerse myself in a fantasy where she was still alive."

"You were weak…" said Rinion flatly.

"If that is what you wish to call it, they aye, I was weak," he conceded.

Rinion studied his father before he spoke again, a trait Thranduil had never before seen in his son.

"I admire your honesty. I must think on what has been said, my Lord."

"Then think you must, Rinion. Come for dinner this evening, here, with Aradan and myself. There is still much to discuss," he said.

Rinion nodded and turned to leave, but he stopped mid-stride and turned once more.

"For what it is worth, my Lord," he said, "I do not despise the Silvan people. My words were meant to cut _you_ , not them."

Thranduil held his son's earnest gaze and nodded, but to speak would be to open the conversation once more and that he did not want.

Alone now with his councillor, Thranduil watched as Aradan slowly approached him and the nearer he moved, the wider his smile.

"It is a start, Thranduil. It is a good start…"

Only then, did Thranduil allow himself the shadow of a smile. "Yes - it is as though only now I am seeing my eldest son for who he has become. I have missed so much in my self-imposed isolation. I never saw how he had changed, how much he is capable of understanding. I have underestimated him."

"Yes," said Aradan thoughtfully, "just as he has done with you."


	35. Synergy

Chapter thirty-five

Author's notes:

Regarding Idhrenohtar and Ram en Ondo - I have never used their real names, hence they do not come into play, everyone just calls them by their warrior name.

Rita Orca: 'bonding epiphany' - LOL, so funny

Earthdragon: the maturity issue is interesting, although Rinion is certainly more worldly wise than both his brothers, his explosive character can make him seem more immature than he really is. Regarding duty vs. emotional control - this is a central issue in the story. Thranduil marrying one he does not love, the queen consenting to it, Oropher originating the whole thing. Hopefully, my own ideas on this subject will become clear before the end.

Guests: thank you, as always

The Company

Hwindohtar - Hwindo - The Whirling Warrior - Legolas / The Silvan

Dimaethor - Dima - The Silent Warrior - Lainion

Idhrenohtar - The Wise Warrior

Ram en Ondo - Wall of Stone

Rhawthir - Fierce Face - Galdithion

Lindohtar - The Bard Warrior - Carodel

Chapter thirty-five: synergy

Legolas sat together with The Company in one of Elrond's many gardens. It was dormant, the shrubs and flowers mostly asleep and vulnerable - but the trees were not - the trees, although many leafless and apparently absent, Legolas knew it was not so, for the slow trickle of emotions and notions brushed comfortably upon his mind.

"That move was amazing, the one where you swivel and stab back and then under slice to the side - I loved that one," said Rhrawthir enthusiastically.

"Or how about the one Elladan showed us with the sword - the feign to the left with just a light twist of the wrist - amazing!" said Lindohtar.

The Company sat and talked of their training, of the things they had leaned and of how sore their muscles were. Legolas smiled as he only half listened to what they said, for truth be told he was exhausted. He had pushed his body further than he had in a long time, and of his mind - well - his new-found gift, his new-found family, the Qalma Liltie ….

"Legolas!" said Ram en Ondo as he slapped his friend playfully on the arm. "Early night for you then?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

"I wish," he said with a smile. "But it is as you say, Lindo. There is so much to learn, so many new things to practise and hone. I must measure myself better for I am feeling the strain of it," he scowled as he rubbed a sore shoulder.

"I know what you mean," said Idhrenohtar. "My mid-section screams at me every time I move, it is excruciating - like being a novice once more!"

"Elladan says there are hot springs not far from here - he has invited us to go this evening. I thought and thought about it and…"

"Ram en, you oaf - you said yes, of course?" said Rhawthir in mock outrage.

"Well of course I did - Dimaethor will come if he can - but that depends on our prince Handir of course," said Ram en as he settled back against the bark of a tree.

"Aye well - I am off to the shooting field - I have much to improve if I am to take the grade," said Idhrenohtar.

"You are preparing for it then," asked Legolas in surprise.

"Aye - Glorfiindel reckons I could do it before we leave, if I work at it hard enough."

"Then I am already proud, Idhreno. You can do it, I know it," said Legolas with a determined smile, and Idhreno smiled back, nodding a little shyly.

Legolas pondered that for a moment, for Idhreno had never shown that emotion before, not to him and he wondered at it.

Before long, the rest of The Company had complained about diligent trainees and had moved to their respective stations; some to shoot, others to spar, and in the case of Legolas - to sleep!

Some time later, Glorfindel came across the slumbering elf, now slouched against a tree. His long, muscled legs were stretched out before him, arms limp to his sides and his head tipped backwards, mouth slack and eyes glazed.

Glorfindel smiled, before crouching down and shutting Legolas' open mouth with his finger. It was enough to waken the boy, his strange green eyes opening and focussing, so close that Glorfindel could see minute flecks of blue and purple and he startled, pulling back and then scowling.

"Your eyes are alive, Legolas - you should do something about that," he gestured to his own eyes, tucking away his puzzlement, at least for the moment.

"What do you mean?" he asked with a smile and a scowl - "of course they are alive…"

"There is blue and purple in them - have you not noticed?"

The scowl deepened and Glorfindel thought he saw a hint of fear. No, he obviously had not noticed, and he resolved to tell Elrond of it later.

"You are tired," he said.

"Thanks to you, yes. I have much to prove to you if you are to take me as your apprentice," he said and Glorfindel watched him as he sat up slowly with a wince.

"Don't push it too far, Legolas. You have been injured recently, and Elrond would skin me if he knew how much you are training."

"You won't tell him?" asked Legolas worriedly.

"No," smiled Glorfindel. I won't tell him but heed me, child - don't get cocky.

Legolas snorted at that and then crossed his legs before him.

"Glorfindel - I hope you don't mind, but there is a question I would ask you."

"Go on, I am listening," he said, watching his student as he settled himself and organised his thoughts.

"I have known Idhrenohtar and Ram en Ondo since I have memory of the world - brothers in every way except blood. We grew together, played together, trained together - until now, seven hundred years later - we find ourselves here, on such an extraordinary adventure. As you can imagine we know each other well - trust each other like we never will another."

"But?" asked Glorfindel, wondering where Legolas' thoughts were wandering.

"Since my - heritage - became known upon the road here, something has changed. It worries me that they see me differently now, that knowing who my father is will change what we have, distance me from them."

"Why? Why do you think that may happen?"

"There is something different. For instance today, when Idhrenohtar told me he is training for the archery grade. I told him I was proud of him and he looked at me…" he trailed off, as if searching for a word.

"How?"

"… he was _shy._ Glorfindel, Idhreno has never been shy with me…" he said worriedly.

Glorfindel smiled sadly before turning his head to the sky and wondering how to explain to Legolas what he understood so clearly from the outside.

"Your question is easy to answer, Legolas."

He felt the child's eyes on him, felt his surprise that Glorfindel should say such a thing about something that had obviously worried him for some time.

"You are becoming a leader, Legolas. 'Tis all it is…" Eventually, he turned to face the Silvan, his eyes frank and confident.

"Will I lose them, do you think?" asked Legolas softly.

"No - you will not lose them, but what you share will change, Legolas."

"But what have I done, Glorfindel. What have I done differently to what I have always done?"

"The question is not what you have done, but what has _changed_. Legolas, you are the son of their king, however illegitimate you may be. That changes things - you cannot expect life to go on as it was, knowing what you all know."

Legolas was silent for a moment, before he spoke once more.

"I have always wanted to excel on my own strengths. Wanted to prove that you didn't have to be a Sindar to be a leader in the Greenwood - did not have to rely on heritage to get what you wanted. Yet see now, the paradox - " he said miserably.

"'Tis enough that you are not using that for your own gain, or that others do so. You are doing this on your own, Legolas, because you have the necessary skill and more - but you cannot expect others to ignore the blood that runs through your veins."

"No - but that is a double edged weapon, is it not? The Company has taken positively to my heritage, but what of the Greenwood. The very thought of returning and facing it all…"

"… is not enough to break _you_ , Legolas," Glorfindel said with a smile. "There will be those that repudiate you, that will use your existence for political gain - and I do not only refer to the Sindar, Legolas. The Silvan people will be just as ruthless in this - mark my words."

Legolas looked at Glorfindel, wondering whether he was right. Would his own people use him? It seemed unlikely to him now, but he trusted Glorfindel, respected him on an instinctive level - he was the nearest thing to a father he had ever had, and the thought brought unexpected tears to his eyes.

Turning away, he took a steadying breath, damning his volatile emotions.

"Legolas," said Glorfiindel softly, "do not be ashamed of your emotions. Tell me what it is that affects you so…"

Legolas turned to meet Glorfindel's kind eyes and wondered, wondered if he could, just for once, indulge himself and give voice to his heart. With an apprehensive glance at the trees around him, he spoke.

"I was just thinking," he began somewhat unsteadily. "I was thinking that you are the closest thing…" he could not continue and his voice broke off - he could not say it.

Glorfindel's own eyes filled and he smiled softly.

"You have been bereft for so long, Legolas. You have been strong, for others, to defend yourself against the mockery of others but you are only an elf, child. I am honoured," he paused for a moment, "that you should trust me so. If I had a child, if I could choose - it would be you," he trailed off as the onslaught of emotion silenced him and both elves sat observing each other in wonder now.

Yet no more words were spoken, for something special had happened to Glorfindel and Legolas in the gardens that morning; a bond had been formed that would never again be broken.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Rinion sat at the dinner table, to the right of his father and in front of Councillor Aradan, who was currently speaking of the upcoming summit with enthusiasm.

"They have come by the hundreds, Thranduil. All the village leaders with their foresters and herders, the summons has been a great success," he proclaimed as he ate.

"I bet uncle Bandorion is overjoyed," drawled Rinion sarcastically as he sipped on his wine.

Thranduil glanced at his mercurial son for a moment, wishing he would not be so unnecessarily cutting.

"And would you agree with him?" asked Thranduil flatly.

Now it was Rinion to return the sideways glance at his father, and Aradan rather thought there was a war of wills going on here.

"That would depend," said the crown prince. There will be singing, drums and rivers of alcohol - if one is looking for a party, I have no qualms," he said.

"And if one is looking for political consensus - what then?" asked Thranduil.

"We have not seen your agenda yet, my King. I can hardly give council on an empty parchment."

"I am not asking for council, Rinion, but your opinion in general, not on specific points."

"Then suffice it to say I have no opinion, until you disclose what it is we are to talk about."

" _Suffice it_?" he asked in silent reprimand, before turning to his friend and councillor. "And you, Aradan?" asked the king.

Aradan could see the king's frustration, even if Rinion probably could not. The Crown Prince was busy trying to antagonise his father, as was customary. The only thing that seemed to have changed, was that he had not been quite as vehement as he would have been but days before.

"They have gone to great lengths to travel here, their numbers are indicative of that. They seem hopeful that something will change, and in that, they will be receptive, I believe. However," he paused with a wry smile, "I cannot help but agree with Prince Rinion in that it would be passing helpful to have an agenda, my king," he said with a hopeful smile.

"And you will have it. There are three days before the summit begins. We will meet tomorrow to discuss it - but this much I will say," he said, looking at both prince and then councillor. The appearance of my youngest son will be made known."

Silence prevailed, as Rinion and Aradan froze. The councillor had deduced as much, of course, but Rinion was shocked.

"You cannot be serious. Publicly announce you have a bastard son? Recognise that you were unfaithful to your queen?" he asked, his incredulous face searching that of his father.

"You think they do not already know, Rinion?"

"One thing is knowing, and quite another to rec…."

"Stop, and think before you shoot your mouth off, Prince. If they know, and they know I know, the result of not recognising his existence is to lose credibility, lose their trust. This boy's face, from what I have been told, is almost identical to that of your grandfather - he will not go unnoticed, Rinion, however much you wish to sweep him under the table and pretend it is simply _coincidence_!"

Rinion stared wide-eyed at his father, before turning back to his meal in annoyance. Aradan watched him carefully, his shrewd eyes searching the boy's feelings. He did not believe half the things he said, concluded the councillor. His entire dialogue was centred around one thing. Hurting his father, as Thranduil had hurt him. It was infantile and yet so ingrained in his behaviour he was surely finding it hard to change.

There was a difference though, for whereas before, Rinion would have continued to argue his point with a less than elegant vocabulary, now, he was biting his tongue and checking his words. It was a start, indeed he would have to council Thranduil to have patience with him, for Rinion deserved that much.

"Does the boy have a name then?" asked Rinion with a slightly stiff upper lip, as if he cared not, but his subterfuge was not skilful enough to hide the truth from Aradan.

"Legolas," said Thranduil simply.

"Well, you don't get more Silvan than _that_ ," he scoffed.

"You do not approve, of course," said Thranduil with a light smile.

"I do not - but that is of no consequence," he answered, before taking a long draught of his wine.

"Are you going to recognise him - as your son? As a prince of the realm?" asked Rinion.

"I cannot name him Prince, but this you already know. He was not born to the queen, it is forbidden."

Rinion nodded in satisfaction as he continued to eat.

"I can acknowledge him, of course, indeed I must as we have already discussed. But this is secondary, of course. Yet know this, Rinion. A time will come when you will meet Legolas, and I expect you to comport yourself as befitting a Crown Prince." said Thranduil, his eyes lingering on his son.

"I cannot foresee that, Father. I cannot foresee how I will feel when I see him. One thing I can say, and that is I will not be welcoming him as a long lost brother - I am sure you can appreciate this," he said somewhat arrogantly.

"So long as you do not disgrace yourself, Rinion. That is all I require of you."

Aradan saw the spark of hurt in Rinion's eyes at the king's words. He _did_ care, he _did_ want the love and attention from his father that had been denied him since the queen had left.

"Aradan…" said the king, snapping the councillor out of his own musings.

"Apologies, my King. What…"

"I asked who the representatives are, of all the Silvan and Avarin leaders, who has been chosen as spokesperson?"

"Ah, Erthoron of Broadtree and Lorthil of Silver Vale for the Silvans, and Barhon for the Avari," he said.

"Do you know them, Rinion?" asked the king.

"No, I have not visited those villages. They are towards the South, Celegon would not condone me visiting those places."

"I see," said Thranduil, knowing the Commander would not wish to place the Crown Prince too near the darkening forests of the South.

"Rinion," said the king, almost as an afterthought. Turning his face to his son, he studied it for a moment, before continuing.

"Did you mean it, what you said the other day…"

"What did I say," asked the prince with a scowl.

The king paused for a moment, wondering if he should continue, but the puzzled look on his son's face spurred him on.

"You said you loved me once…"

Rinion was taken aback but Aradan could not say if it was because he had not expected his father to mention that, or that the words seemed too harsh to have come from his own lips.

"I _did_ mean it," he said carefully, "but that does not mean I cannot love you once more. Father," he said, turning fully now to look squarely at the king. "I cannot change centuries of bitterness. I was old enough to see the damage you did to my mother, to my younger brother and sister. They were not entirely aware but I was. I tried to minimise it, explain it away when my own heart was breaking and I _hated_ you for that," he said harshly. Now that I know some of the details, that my grandfather started all this by prohibiting your love for the Silvan woman, now that I know the extent of your love for her and my own mother's prior knowledge of it. My rational mind can understand these things, but the damage was done and I acted in consequence."

"And can you change that? With time, can you come to love me once more?" asked the king softly.

Rinion's eyes filled with tears but the prince would not allow them to fall.

"I never stopped loving you - that is why it hurt so much…" he whispered furiously, before standing abruptly, and leaving.

Thranduil and Aradan were left sitting in stunned silence, until Thranduil smiled and turned to Aradan.

"Time - time and a loving father will heal him, Aradan," he said happily, and Aradan smiled back, for while he agreed essentially with what Thranduil said, he knew that Rinion would still have his outbursts, bouts of cutting words uttered to hurt. This was not the end of the tunnel, and he just hoped that his friend knew that too.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

"Get up!" thundered Glorfindel as Lindohtar struggled for breath on the ground. Heaving a wheezing breath he stood shakily and nodded at the commander.

"Get him, _floor_ him!" he shouted, goading the warrior on. Lindohtar steeled himself and ran head first into the Wall of Stone, crashing into it with a mighty hrumph. But still, the massive elf did not stumble, indeed it was Lindohtar who nearly fell to his backside. At the last moment, he remembered a move, and shot his foot out to catch Ram en Ondo's heel, hooking it and sending him down into a cloud of dry dirt with a mighty crash.

The rest of the warriors winced in sympathy, watching as Glorfindel towered over them both.

"Good enough," was all he said before turning to Legolas.

"UP!" he motioned, before turning to Melven and beckoning to him. The Company shared worried glances at each other, while the Noldorin warriors smirked evilly.

"Your objective is to down your opponent," he said, turning to face Melven. "No more…" he said in silent warning.

With a nod, both warriors crouched low and began to circle. Melven lurched forward, reaching for Legolas' arm but the Silvan dodged his move, spinning once and latching on to Melven from behind, throwing him to the floor.

"Get up!" shouted Glorfiindel to the fuming Noldo, who rose to his feet and then swivelled his shoulders.

Charging forwards, Legolas side-stepped, watching as Melven rolled forwards and crashed head first into the ground.

"Ooohh!" shouted the Silvans in sympathy, while the Noldor shared amused glances.

"Get up!" growled Glorfindel angrily for the second time.

Again, the dark haired warrior rose and breathed deeply, before deciding his next move. Approaching Legolas more slowly now, he feigned to one side and then landed a blow to Legolas' lower chest, driving the breath from him.

Stunned silence followed, but before Glorfindel could reprimand the warrior, Legolas caught Melven in a shoulder clamp and before anyone could register it, he flipped the warrior over his shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground flat on his back, only this time Legolas knelt over him, his fierce face staring down at Melven angrily.

"That _hurt_ …" was all he said, before rising and moving away with a brief glance at Glorfindel.

"Get up!" said Glorfiindel for the third time, but he said no more of the underhand tactics Melven had used, for there really was no need. Glorfindel had seen enough, and Legolas had made his point clearly enough. Melven was not a bad warrior; it was his mindset that needed changing.

"Are you alright?" smirked Elladan as he watched Legolas rub his chest.

"Yes," he said hoarsely, garnering a chuckle from The Company and Elladan as he sat with a stifled groan.

After their hand-to-hand session, they moved on to archery and blades, knowing that tomorrow they would choose their two weapons of choice and their training would start anew, only this time it would be less generic, more specific, and spirits were high.

Training now over, the warriors strode towards the barracks amidst light-hearted banter for the most part. Melven walked alone, silent and brooding, and Legolas could not help but wonder what it was that had turned the elf so sour, so against him, for they had not exchanged a single word. Perhaps it was a Silvan thing, that he thought them rural and wild, but then again, why did he seem to hate Legolas specifically? He disapproved of bastards, perhaps - he would not be the first elf he had met to hate him for that alone, but no. Legolas was not convinced of the strange Noldo's motives, and wondered if, perhaps, he could get close enough to him to find out.

"Legolas," called Glorfindel.

"Aye, Sir?"

"Your presence is required after the evening meal."

"Of course, Sir," he said with a nod. This of course, meant that he would miss their excursion to the hot springs with Elladan. Well, he scowled as he rubbed his chest again, it was just as well, for truth be told he was too tired. He just hoped he would not disgrace himself and nod off in the company of lords and princes.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

After the evening meal, Legolas made his way to the main house, smiling as he remembered the light-hearted banter they had struck up at the dinner table at the barracks. Even the Noldor had been more talkative, something Legolas attributed to the fact that Elladan was clearly mixing with the Silvans, indeed no sooner had they finished, and Elrond's son guided them to the promised hot springs, towels and soaps in hand as they chatted and joked and waved to their friend.

Would it ever be the same for him? He wondered… would he still be simply part of that life-long team of friends, equal in all things? No, he realised, no it would never be the same, he said to himself. From the moment he had resolved to become a captain, he had forsaken a part of it, doomed it to certain change. All he could do was to clutch to the hope that it would be a good thing, that he would not lose their friendship, not lose his _brothers_.

Walking through the main doors, he nodded at the elves that milled around, receiving in return the curious gazes of the Noldorin elves. He turned then to the Hall of Fire, where he knew Glorfindel would be waiting for him.

However the commander was not alone. He sat together with Elrond, Erestor, and Prince Handir.

Bowing first to Elrond, he then turned and bowed to his prince, who nodded back. It was strange, that this elf was his brother, so utterly strange to be bowing to him, to not feel at ease enough to call him by his name.

Standing before Glorfindel, he waited for the commander to speak.

"Legolas, sit, you are not on duty but in the presence of friends," he said, glancing at Handir for a moment before gesturing to a chair beside the fire, for the night was chill.

"Thank you, my Lord," he said as he sat somewhat stiffly.

"Tell us, what weapons will you choose tomorrow?" prompted Glorfindel.

"I am already an archer, he began. "One will be short swords, of course," he paused here, and Glorfindel saw the doubt in his apprentice's eyes.

"You are unsure of the second?"

"Yes. I admit I am torn between spears and swords."

"Spears," said Elrond in interest from a comfortable sofa nearby. "I have not seen that discipline since the second age. Do we have anyone in Imladris suitable to instruct him, Glorfindel?"

"Yes," he said thoughtfully. There is one who might teach him, the last spearman we have," said Glorfindel with a sad smile. "You have the build for it, but - I wonder…" he trailed off, his eyes losing their focus for a moment.

"What is it? You have a suggestion perhaps?" asked Legolas enthusiastically. He did not know why he doubted the sword but he did -

"I would show you something… come," he said thoughtfully as he stood. "Accompany me," he said without waiting for a reply, and so Legolas bowed to the remaining lords and left, under the curious gazes of Elrond, Erestor and Handir.

"Is he progressing as well as you thought he might?" asked Handir.

Elrond only half turned to the prince, the bright orange light catching his angular features, casting deep shadows upon his wise face.

"Oh yes. That, and then some…" said the lord thoughtfully.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Glorfindel did not stop until they were at the weapons hall. It was a long, stone building with vaulted ceilings. Down the centre, were rows upon rows of wooden stands, where swords and knives and all sorts of objects were stored. Upon the walls stood flags and standards, bows and lances, objects Legolas was sure had seen great battles. Indeed his mind imagined the foggy fields of mud and blood, the distant sounds of elven chanting, drums and the scrape of metal upon metal. He shivered at the thought and wondered if he would ever be in such battles.

"Here," said Glorfiindel as he emerged from a dark corner. "This is it."

"A spear?"

"Of sorts, although the metal tip is longer and wider, see," he said, pushing it up towards Legolas' face."

"Your grandfather was a master spearman, but his weapon was adapted. There are none here like the one he fashioned. It was something similar to this but the other end also had a blade, or more a curved, scimitar blade. It is a versatile weapon, and make no mistake," he said, turning to face Legolas. "Spears are not only for throwing - but for hand to hand …"

"I know, it is this adaptability that draws my attention to it. Throwing it, you can combat from afar, up close you can incapacitate an opponent or slice his head off. It has reach, more than a sword…"

"You have studied well, Legolas," he said approvingly as he picked up another spear. "Come, we take these two to the smiths tomorrow and see what he can come up with. I will speak with Dagoren, see whether he is amenable to your idea…"

"I did not know Oropher was a spearman," said Legolas thoughtfully.

Glorfindel smiled as he remembered his friend, training upon the fields to the awe of all who looked on. He had been good, and told Legolas as much.

"I am not sure I wish to follow in his footsteps," said Legolas pensively, and Glorfindel's smile faded.

"Why would you say such a thing?"

"Because - he is the reason my father was not allowed to take his soul mate as queen, he is the reason I grew as an orphan."

"Under the cold light of day - yes," said Glorfindel carefully. "But how many times are we any of us lucky enough to see things under such light? Things may not have been as simple as they seem to you now."

"Yes, I know. I know nothing of the workings of state, I cannot know his mind and yet it seems cruel beyond reason to do such a thing."

"Leadership, the greater good, can often be cruel to the minority, Legolas. It is not a perfect system, but it is the best we have."

Legolas considered this for a moment. He could not bring himself to defend what his grandfather had done, but now, neither could he condemn it for Glorfindel was right. There were things Legolas knew nothing about, and until such time as he could understand, he would simply abstain - keep his judgement to himself. He had been attracted to the spear without the knowledge that it had been Oropher's weapon of choice; it was a simple coincidence and he would think no more on it.

"Glorfindel," said Legolas as they made their way back to the manor. "When can I begin the Qalma Liltie?" he asked, watching the commander.

"Not yet. You must first be a master of the blades. Only then will I begin your training.

"But that may take many months yet…"

"Not so many Legolas. Two, perhaps, if you are diligent, and I know you will be."

"Two months…" he trailed off, disappointment dripping from the words.

Glorfindel chuckled. "That would be record time, Legolas. Do not be disappointed, and even then, I have yet to see you spar seriously with the twin knives- you may surprise me," he said happily, watching as a tentative smile twitched on Legolas' lips.

"It will leave us little time for the dance before I am to return," said Legolas.

"Undoubtedly, but that project is a long one, child. It will be years before you and I dance the Qalma Liltie. You will return to your forests and perhaps we can find a way for you to come here again. Who can say. We can, however, initiate the rites…"

"Rites?" asked Legolas frowning.

"Oh yes, did you not know…?" asked Glorfindel quietly, his deep blue eyes turning almost black as his pupils dilated and Legolas startled for a moment. He would have asked for details, but it was too late, for they were already crossing the threshold and striding into the Hall of Fire.

"They will be here in two days. It is predictable that…"

"My Lords," said Glorfindel as he approached with Legolas and sat. "Who is arriving?" he asked as he poured two glasses of wine and pushed one towards Legolas.

"Envoys from Thranduil," said Elrond, his eyes slipping towards Legolas for a moment. "There has not been enough time for the Greenwood warriors to arrive home - these messengers were sent before, without the knowledge contained in the missives we sent with Commander Celegon.

"Which means," added Erestor, "the king will state his intentions regarding the appearance of young Legolas here," he said thoughtfully. Handir remained silent and pensive, while Legolas himself sat rigid in his chair.

He felt like a punished child, as if he had done something wrong and would now be judged and duly punished, and yet he had done nothing save to have the bad luck of being born a bastard - it was not his fault and yet here he sat, rigid and fretting over his own future. A spark of anger flared inside him for what had he done to deserve this?

"Legolas," came the sudden voice, cutting through his angry thoughts.

"Handir," answered Legolas.

"Do not fret, the king will be benevolent," he said confidently.

"Benevolent?" he asked incredulously, his voice low and disbelieving, "and I should give thanks for that? Tell me, my Prince, what have I done that I should be judged? That our king may show me benevolence? What are my crimes?"

"That is not what I meant, Legolas. I meant only to reassure you. Nothing untoward will happen."

"How can you possibly know that? You yourself have said your relationship with the king has been distant for centuries. Are you sure your judgement is sound in this?" he asked doubtfully. "All it will take will be for him to call me back to the woods and my future, my dreams, will be stilted. Do you think he understands that? Do you think he knows me at _all_?"

"No, he does not, and yet I know my father, Legolas."

"I am glad for you, Handir, for I do not. But I believe it is better to speak plainly than to offer useless reassurances - they do not convince me at all."

"What would you have me say, Legolas? That I do not know how he will react when he learns that the son he created to save the life of his lover is not in Valinor but here? That you were not enough to save her? That I do not know if he will love you anyway, or hate you for taking her life? That I do not know if he will open his heart to the Silvan people and embrace you, or listen to the Sindarin purists and send you away in disgrace? Nay - these are _your_ thoughts, Legolas, they are not mine. I do not believe he will turn against you."

Legolas stared wide-eyed at his brother, for the prince had enumerated one by one his fears, had understood exactly what he was thinking, and he was suddenly ashamed of his outburst.

"Forgive me," he said, duly chastised, before he smiled softly. "You did, indeed, speak plainly, and I see your understanding of my predicament."

Handir nodded, before continuing, oblivious to Erestor's approving gaze. "You cannot change what has happened, Legolas. We can only make the most of what we have, use it to construct, not to destroy."

Legolas gazed long on his brother. His almost silver hair shone beautifully in the half light - he could see his own face there, a similarity that could not be denied, and for the first time, Legolas could not say that disturbed him.

"Your words are wise, Prince," said Legolas softly. "Self pity will do me no good," he said resolutely, and Handir smiled.

"You are, surprisingly, not dissimilar to my elder brother, Rinion," began Handir. "He is hardy and resolute, a warrior. He has a strong character and a heart so soft he shields it under the guise of steel - as if he were impermeable - unbreakable and yet, he is, perhaps, the most vulnerable of us all."

"And," said Legolas with an insecure glance at Handir, "you have a sister…" he asked.

" _We_ , have a sister, aye. Maeneth. She stays with our cousin Lord Celeborn in Lorien. She has been there for five hundred years."

"Why so long?" asked Legolas, for that was tantamount almost to Legolas' entire life.

"She asked it. After the events in the Greenwood, she was still so young, needed the guidance of the parents she no longer had. Rinion was beside himself in anger and I was too young to do anything about it. It was Celeborn himself that suggested he take Maeneth and tutor her.

"What is _she_ like?" asked Legolas, his eyes now far away.

"She's lovely, Legolas, albeit I have not seen her for so long her features blur in my mind. I cannot rightly say what kind of adult she has become - it has been too long."

"Speaking of Lorien," interrupted Elrond, "I have spoken to Galadriel and - she has a suggestion."

"Oh? asked Glorfindel. "About what?"

"About Legolas' gift," he said simply. Handir glanced at his brother, as Legolas' eyes were now riveted on Elrond.

"She suggests we provoke an incident. I must see how this works Legolas, if I am to help you control it."

"I am not…"

"I know, Legolas - it frightens you and that is only logical. The Valar know I understand you in this. But you cannot spend the rest of your life afraid of yourself. You must understand how this works, and when you do, you will be able to use it, control it."

"How can we do this?" asked Glorfindel, sitting forward in his seat.

"Meet me tomorrow after lunch in the gardens, Legolas. I am not sure myself how to do this, but perhaps something will occur to us."

Legolas looked miserable, for he was tired, and emotionally exhausted, and if you added to that the anxiety that had taken hold of him before tomorrow's experiment, all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and sleep, forget it all.

"You are tired," said Elrond knowingly.

"Yes. If I may, I would retire. I have an early start on the field tomorrow."

"Of course. Rest well, Legolas," said Elrond with a critical eye.

Bowing to the lords and prince, Legolas left, alone and pensive and although he was so very tired, he doubted sleep would come easy to him that night.


	36. Cry From The Other Side

Author's notes:

OK, so the last update coincided with you guys being on holiday, and I really missed you all! However, on with the story, and things are about to drastically change. I hope you enjoy this pivotal chapter.

Earthdragon: it will be a long time before Legolas dances the Qalma Liltie - it will come though :)

Rita Orca: wow - where to start! I am flattered to be contributing to your vocab! Spears - yes, I love the idea of Legolas wielding a double bladed spear - it is very exotic, I think. Fencing! I love watching fencing - it fascinates me :) Hope the next chapter lives up to your expectations.

Chapter thirty-six: Cry From The Other Side

Legolas' heart thumped uncomfortably in his chest. Just the mere thought of seeing the shock and fear on the faces of those around him, knowing it would be because of him, because of his eyes - it was enough to turn his stomach; but that was not the full of it. Legolas had always been unnerved at the thought of some other entity entering his mind. Indeed he did not even know if that was actually what happened, and therein lay the only reason why he had acceded to such an experiment.

The day had been granted to him, and whilst The Company toiled upon the training fields with Elladan and the Noldor, Legolas would spend the day with Elrond in search of understanding his newly-found gift. He still wondered at the term, for although it had been useful to him on the journey here, and before, during the fire in the forest, the very fact that he did not know where it came from, why it had been bestowed upon him - the knowledge that he could not control it, that it controlled _him_ …

Soon enough, Legolas spotted Elrond sitting upon a bench together with Glorfindel and spite of his apprehension and nervousness, he smiled at the unexpected presence of his mentor, his friend.

"Good morning!" said Glorfindel jovially.

"Morning," answered Legolas sullenly, wondering why the commander was in such an enviably good mood.

"Today will be a great day, child. We will finally get to see what it is you are gifted with, and, we visit the smith, design a weapon for you."

Elrond smiled at Glorfindel, knowing he was enjoying himself as he had not done for many years. He had found a kindred spirit in Legolas and Elrond recognised that for what it was.

"Come sit, Legolas, gestured Elrond. "I have been reading, investigating similar cases to your own, reports of Silvan and Avarin Listeners and the likes."

"And what do they say?" asked Legolas, his vulnerability now clear for the lords to see. He was frightened, and it irked him that he could not hide it.

"While similar in some ways, what you have reported is, as yet, undocumented. This is new, whatever it is. What can be learned today will not only benefit you, Legolas, but any others who share this ability with you."

"How are we to go about this?" asked Glorfindel.

"I do not know, my friend. Legolas?"

"I have no idea, my Lord. Perhaps, if we just walk and I am left to my own mind - "

"Alright. Wander freely Legolas and we will follow. Clear your mind, think of nothing save for that which surrounds you. Focus if you can, on the trees, open yourself as best you can and if anything happens, do not startle, do not be afraid - you are safe with us…"

Legolas held Elrond's gaze for a while, before nodding, and moving away from the bench. With a deep breath, he cast his eyes around the gardens and then began to walk.

It was cold but the sun shone brightly upon his path. The air was laden with the smell of wet soil and the chatter of robins and wrens that flittered here and there.

Upon a branch, sat a wren, its beady black eyes resting on Legolas cooly. Legolas smiled at it before continuing along the path. Movement at the base of another tree caught his eye - a field mouse sat upon its hind legs, eyes watching Legolas as he passed by. He smiled again, blessing his luck this morning, for in spite of the nature of this apparently leisurely stroll, it was turing out to be enjoyable, as if Spring were already here.

He could no longer sense the presence of the lords behind him, albeit he knew they were there, watching his every move.

The wren flew past him then and he stopped in his tracks to watch its merry dance, scowling as his mind asked him how he had known - how he had known it was the same wren he had seen perched upon a branch sometime before. Yet the question did not fully register and Legolas continued to walk, his feet carrying him forward as his mind cast its attention here and there.

A finch, a thrush, a mole and and a squirrel, even a butterfly flitted close to his face and again, his rational mind surfaced for a brief moment - 'it is winter and yet…'

But his joy was too great to listen and he chuckled like a young child in the midst of a spring field, opening his arms and turning on his heel, his long hair fanning around him as he tilted his head to the sun and closed his eyes in a rare moment of bliss.

On he walked, passing a wooden fence that was only half open. Entering this, more secluded area, Legolas slowed his pace to study his new surroundings. It was darker here and for a moment it felt more like home for the darkness was not attributable to the shadows cast by the trees - it was a different kind of shadow that lived here.

His smile slipped and he closed his eyes. A feeling of dread was slowly settling in his gut, a sadness that was seeping through his skin. His eyes registered the overgrown gardens, the shrivelled bushes and the leaf fall that had not been cleared. These gardens were not well kept, he realised.

Something had happened here…

Legolas turned, his mind tingling with a nascent sense of alert - how did he know that?

Do not approach the tree - the sentinel.

He frowned and his stomach pinched in anguish, for that uncomfortable feeling of dread was back - was his mind talking to himself, or where these the thoughts of others - of the trees?

His breathing accelerated a little as he resumed his slow, now hesitant step, but then his head turned to the side as a strange noise came to his ears.

Distant at first, it sounded strange, like a tin whistle poorly played. Shaking his head his eyes now darted around him apprehensively, until they landed once more upon a small wren, perched upon the gnarled branch of a sickly oak.

Blood rushed in his ears, and he wandered if the sea sounded like that. His eyes latched onto the tiny bird and the sound that before had seemed to him like ill-played music turned to metal upon metal, louder and louder and Legolas began to breath heavily, resisting the urge to cover his ears with his hands.

Turning here and then there he no longer knew where to fix his gaze.

The gnarled oak, the shrivelled bushes, the leaf-strewn paths. The dark shadows, the sickly sentinel, the blank stare of a wren.

He gasped and finally succumbed to his own discomfort, covering his ears in a futile attempt to block out the grating, scraping sound that ripped through his senses, and then his eyes bulged in fear as he felt the back of his neck pop and he froze where he stood, the cacophony suddenly disappearing and his shoulders hunched as if he expected a blow.

 _I was once joyous…_

Legolas' eyes slipped to the side.

 _I once felt the bliss of life…_

A twitch of dark brows.

 _And then light was tainted by the shadow of darkness…_

Legolas' eyes filled with tears as he listened, terrified now of what would happen next. He felt too light, as if he floated upon a summer cloud and yet his chest felt so heavy, as if he carried the burdens of the world upon himself.

 _I cannot waken, cannot forget the pain, cannot forget the tragedy of unconditional love…_

Legolas gasped, and then staggered to his knees, his hands now upon the ground, bracing his body.

Not far away, Elrond and Glorfindel watched wide-eyed as Legolas fell, his back towards them, and only the lord's steadying hand upon the commanders arm stopped him from rushing forward.

"Wait…"

"Who are you?" called Legolas feebly, tears now falling from his eyes and as he turned his head, the two lords gasped and stepped backwards for there, kneeling in the carpet of dried leaves, was an elf with shining green eyes and hair that snaked too slowly around his head.

 _I remember her - remember her plight…_

Legolas pushed the crushing sadness down and struggled to his feet, moving now as would a blind man, his hands reaching out before him until he stopped before the sickly oak and looked up into its bereft boughs.

"You are a sentinel," said Legolas in awe as his palm connected with the branch and white light exploded behind his eyes.

He cried out in both fright and pain, for a burning lance of agony shot through his head and he suddenly understood what was being said, the story he was being told. He saw her face, saw her agony, her beauty, her light and her suffering, saw her strong body standing tall and proud upon white shores…

Gasping once more, his tears fell as the faces of Elrohir, Elladan and then Elrond flitted across his mind's eye, their expressions so full of crushing despair and utter grief they stole Legolas' breath and he struggled for air as his stomach churned, and before he could reason what it was he saw, his hand flew from the bark and he fell to his knees with a thud, battling the sudden nausea that crashed over him, the searing pain in his gut, in his chest.

Silence

His eyes burned and he turned them momentarily to the wren, perched upon a leafy branch… the same branch it had sat on before and yet not so.

Warm hands held him from behind and a wave of such relief hit him so hard he sagged into the comforting arms. His body lost its muscle tension and he allowed himself to be pulled back, until he looked straight up, into the shining grey eyes of Elrond.

"Peace," came the distant voice, a voice laden with magic and he was compelled to listen as it echoed through his mind, and sure enough, the sounds and sights and smells that had so brutally taken him not moments before, began to recede, until only the sounds of nature around him existed and he closed his eyes in utter relief.

A warm hand rested upon his forehead and a sense of well-being took away the last vestiges of anxiety that had clenched his gut so fiercely. He relaxed as the nausea receded and he no longer felt the ripping pain in his body.

A long, slow breath escaped him and he opened his eyes once more.

"Better?" asked Elrond kindly, Glorfindel's shocked face appearing over his shoulder.

"Elrond," said the commander and the lord turned, drawn it seemed, by the low urgency in his friend's voice.

"Look," was all he said.

Legolas watched Elrond as his eyes moved and he stilled, frozen as the irises shone in incomprehension. Frowning himself, Legolas' head feebly moved in the same direction until his eyes registered just what it was the two lords were looking at.

Sitting up, he turned to face the sentinel. No longer sickly and weak but strong and vibrant, bright green leaves impossibly open and it seemed to Legolas that all the birds in Imladris now sat amongst its reborn limbs, chattering excitedly.

It is mid winter, it cannot be…

 _Nay - it is Spring, a Spring I have not felt for a thousand years…_

His blood froze and his skin prickled. He staggered to his feet and swayed unsteadily, drawing the attention of the two lords once more.

 _Come, child…_

Legolas shook his head once more

 _To the forest…_

He gasped, could no longer see Glorfindel kneeling before the tree, Elrond rushing towards him in concern, for he himself was moving… moving away from them, from the strange garden, from the grounds of the manor and beyond, through the tree line and into the woods.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

A cold winter sun dappled upon the crisp, brown leaves of the forest floor. The soft crunch of footsteps reached his ears and Lorthil turned, smiling brightly at his colleague, Erthoron of Broadtree.

The two Silvan and one Avarin village leader greeted each other with wide smiles and shining eyes. They shared a sense of muted excitement they had not felt for centuries, and as the forest caravan settled for the evening amidst the welcoming forest, the sound of crackling fires and soft singing lent the perfect setting for their long-awaited reunion.

"Finally," began Lorthil, "the time has finally come," he said, his bright grey eyes latching onto Erthoron's brown irises and then sparing a flitting glance at the Avarin Barhon.

"Yes. But caution brothers, for while there is reason to rejoice, things may yet turn sour - keep this in mind, for the consequences of what we now do may be disastrous, to our people and to _him_."

"I know, Erthoron. But allow me this one moment," said Lorthil slyly, before turning his eyes to the trees. "I wonder, I wonder how things have been for him. I wonder if he knows, if anybody knows…"

"Who can say, said Erthoron thoughtfully. We are woefully lacking information, but the king's summons is indicative that something important has transpired. The summit has been called in haste, that much is obvious, and of course Amareth's summons is all too telling. I would wager he knows, that the boy's face has not gone unnoticed. The king's hand will have been forced."

Lorthil studied Erthoron carefully, before slowly nodding his agreement.

"I wager you are right, Erthoron. It is not coincidence, I think. The question is - how will he take the news… Amareth will surely have been obliged to speak - will she have told it all, do you think?"

"Perhaps, and that would not be a bad thing. At least that way the king will know there is a traitor in our midst."

"Aye," said Lorthil thoughtfully, "yet who can say how Thranduil will have reacted. Amareth may be in danger, and not only from the king, but by those who seek to conspire against him."

Erthoron sighed deeply, worry clearly etched upon his face.

"You are not wrong - and so you see our joy must be cautious, we cannot walk into Thranduil's court showing anything but mild interest, it is not in our favour to do so, or his."

"He wants to be a captain," smiled Erthoron kindly. "It is all he has ever wanted," he said as he sat before the nascent hearth that Golloron had set for them.

"Aye," said Lorthil. "But I wonder, I wonder if he will set his sights a little higher - I mean, when he hears what we have to say, what we have discussed…"

"You know as well as I do, Lorthil, that he may wish for nothing of what we offer. He is a warrior, the wiles of court will not interest him."

"I know, but our proposition is not exactly one that would keep him at court - it is more a representation, if you will - it will not interfere with his calling as a Captain. Besides," he said, poking a stick into the crackling fire, "if he does accept, he will be more than just a Captain."

Erthoron held his friend's gaze for long moments before he spoke again. "I have spoken to the rest and they are in agreement in one thing at least. The idea is a good one, yet they hold back for they all wish to speak with him before they make a decision and sign our petition."

"I had thought as much," said Lorthil. "But it is a good start, a very good start. Long has it been since the Silvan leaders have gathered and spoken on such important matters - his very existence has brought this about; there is magic in the air, Erthoron, magic and excitement; a sense of optimism I have not felt for centuries. We must make him see the merit in this, it is paramount to our people, _his_ people."

Erthoron nodded in agreement at his friend's words, and then smiled. "Well, first we speak with Thranduil, pave the way and get a measure of the Sindarin purists - they will not agree of course, but I wonder if they are still in the minority."

"Yes, we must not precipitate matters more than is strictly necessary. We tell him of our qualms, our requests, our _demands_ ," said Lorthil passionately, "and then we present our petition - we do not say _who_ we are proposing, only that we wish for this new, political structure."

"Aye, but Lorthil - I cannot but help think we are stumbling forwards too quickly. Our enthusiasm is spreading, the people are jubilant and it shows - I wonder at the king's reaction."

The three leaders returned their gazes to the fire, listening to the forest and for a moment they sat a little straighter as they tuned their senses.

"The forest is alive this night," said Golloron the Spirit Herder, and the others regarded the strange, dark haired Silvan whose gaze was now lost to his own musings.

It was true, realised Erthoron. There was something upon the air, as if the forest held its breath, as if something important was about to happen.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Elladan sat in the field just before the tree line, The Company beside him in solemn silence. He watched them all as they simply waited, waited for Legolas to emerge from the forest, for it had been two days since he had left.

His father had been sparing with the details, saying only that Legolas had been summoned into the forest and that he would appear in his own time, that they should not worry. Elladan had been suspicious of his father's apparently confident words, because where his father was often mercurial, Glorfindel was fiery passion and he had not been able to hide his concern. Something had happened that morning in the gardens, and whatever it had been, had deeply affected him.

Morning turned into afternoon and still they sat in silent vigil. Glorfindel had visited not an hour past, sharing their silent repast, silent that is, until Lainion could no longer stand it and he turned to the commander.

"My Lord. I must insist you tell us the circumstances of Legolas' - _disappearance_ ," he said seriously and Elladan admired the Avari's courage as he watched the rest of the Silvan's heads turn expectantly to Glorfindel.

"I understand your concern, Lainion. But I am not at liberty to discuss it - it is not for me to tell."

"Then I and The Company will search for him…"

"No," said Glorfindel simply.

"Give us one reason, my Lord, and we will gladly stay," he said challengingly.

Glorfindel held Lainion's gaze for a moment as he considered his next words.

"All I know is that Legolas was summoned, and my Lord Elrond has forbidden us to follow him."

Glorfindel stared blankly at the Avari, who clenched his jaw in irritation at the obviously insufficient words.

"And do you agree with your Lord? deem his words sufficient?" asked Lainion impertinently.

"I would be out there searching for him with you, make no mistake, Lainion. But I trust my lord. He is gifted, this you know. I cannot pretend to understand his words, cannot imagine what he knows and does not say. What I _will_ tell you," he paused, watching and waiting until he had the attention of the entire Company, "is that Legolas' gift has manifested itself, and I believe Lord Elrond has a measure of it, may suspect what it is our friend is capable of, and if Legolas is in danger, here in the Valley, he will know - and he will send us out to find him."

There was such intense determination in the blond warriors eyes that Lainion immediately nodded, and the others settled, turning their eyes back to the tree line, to wait.

And Elladan waited with them, for truth be told there was nowhere else he would rather be. This Silvan child had worked his way into his soul, had become a pivotal part of his life for reasons he could not even begin to explain. All he knew, was that this is where he should be, and, should it be granted to him, wherever Legolas went, so too, would Elladan.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Four scrolls sat upon Elrond's desk but the Lord did not sit at it, rather he stood before the bay windows that looked out over the jagged rift of rock and to the trees beyond.

"I wonder what it is he does there…" he murmured.

"Who can say, Elrond. You have much to discuss with me…"

"Aye," whispered Elrond. "Yet where to begin, my friend - that is the question."

"At the beginning would be the obvious answer, yet I suspect you are unaware of that…"

"Yes, I am unaware…" he said absently.

"You are troubled," said the old man.

"I am - _unnerved,_ is perhaps a better word."

"Strong word for an ancient Elven lord - you have my entire attention," said Mithrandir, his glowing face turning to meet Elrond squarely, his deep blue eyes shining with an energy that was not reflected in his wizened body.

"Walk with me," was all Elrond said, and so the lord and the wizard walked the paths of Imladris, and Elrond spoke of all he knew, and by the time he had finished, the wizard wore an expression he did not rightly know how to interpret.

"What are you thinking, Elrond finally asked.

"I am not yet sure, Elrond. However, if what I suspect is true, things are about to get - interesting."

"What do you mean?" asked Elrond, suddenly alert, his eyes searching the vibrant blue eyes that stared back at him.

"I cannot rightly say, Elrond, not yet. We must wait for the boy to emerge, and then speak with him. Only then, can we call a council to discuss the contents of those scrolls - there is no point in doing so until all those involved are present, and now I suspect the priority is on Legolas and his predicament. We must hope he arrives soon, for there is much to be done," he said as if to himself.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Another day had passed, and the sun was slowly navigating its steady path towards the horizon. The sky was a shocking orange, flecked with vivid reds and blues and all eyes were turned to the West, where soon enough the star would wink goodnight and mark the fourth night of Legolas' absence.

"I am worried," said Lainion to Handir, who stood beside him.

"He will surely not have ventured far on his own, Lainion. Elrond would know if there was any danger."

"He did not take his weapons…"

"Still, he can fend for himself…"

"He is not invincible, Handir."

The prince simply nodded at that and then turned his face to the group of warriors that always seemed to follow Legolas wherever he went; The Company, they were known as, or so he had been told.

They were an odd bunch, all of them exceptional to look at in one way or the other. Some for their towering build, others for their hair or eye colour, others for their fierce miens and yet they all shared a common expression now. Worry, devotion… How strange, mused the prince, that one so young, so inexperienced, should garner such a following, such loyalty.

He spotted Elladan sitting amongst them and he wondered, for Elrond's son had struck a singular friendship with Legolas, indeed he sat together with the Silvans rather than with Glorfindel and Elrond, accompanied now by their new visitor - Mithrandir.

The various groups of elves talked quietly, for there was a strange note upon the air and tension was slowly coming to a head. The Company, however, sat in utter silence, oblivious to the quiet murmuring of those nearby, unaware of the surreptitious glances they were receiving.

The Sun finally touched the horizon, sending a golden flare of light blazing across the forest and for a moment, their hushed conversations were stilled as they looked towards the beautiful sunset, and the now dying flare.

Idhrenohtar stood, his head held high, as if he smelled something upon the air but his eyes - his eyes peered into the distance, for a silhouette had appeared where the sun had kissed the land and now, the others saw it too and joined the Wise Warrior upon their feet.

Slowly, the dark blotch became the hazy figure of an elf, until the somewhat undefined body began to take shape and the world of those that looked on - was inexorably changed forever.


	37. The Protege

Author's notes:

Honestly, thank you all so very much. I am afraid I lost control of which reviews I had answered, so if I didn't answer yours, please forgive me. You all know by know that I like to answer everyone.

Ah, and sorry for the cliffy - but I have to cut the chapter somewhere, and that seemed like the best place to do it :))) To compensate, here is a nice long chapter, for your enjoyment.

Rita Orca: thank you for being such a motivating reviewer - and keep that vocabulary coming :))

Guest 1345: thanks! My age? gulp, ehem, eh, older than you!

Chapter thirty-seven: The Protege

The shining face was so beautiful it brought a tear to his eye and he wondered for a moment if he were dreaming of Valinor once more, but no; this was not the Blessed Land, it was Arda, and it was no Vala that stood before him now but an elf.

White blond hair cascaded in thick rivulets, down past the elf's hips, a mantle of such splendour none had seen before and if Legolas had once been beautiful, now, he was beyond description, at least to Elladan's confused mind.

He could not fathom how this could be, how the elf could have suffered such a transformation in the four days he had been away. The changes were clear for all to see - his hair much longer than it had been before and he could not help but cast a furtive glance at his father, who he did not doubt knew more than he had let on.

This eyes were soon back on the elf before him and his eyes dropped to the naked, muscled torso, the simple black breeches and then his bare feet. He was restrained power, silent strength and beauty beyond compare - he seemed unreal, ethereal beyond the reasonable and Elladan knew not what to do, what to say, and so he stood in silence as his rational mind toiled with the overload of visual stimulus.

Idhrenohtar was the first to react, stepping forward and draping his cloak over the naked skin, pulling the hood over the shining elf and pulling on his arm. Soon, he was joined by Elrond, who nodded at the Wise Warrior.

"Come," was all he said, and soon enough, the cloaked elf was led away, into the house and to a private room, where Elrond now sat, together with Mithrandir. Idhrenohtar and the rest of The Company had been sent away, but that had not stopped them from taking up guard outside the room, for what right did the Noldorin lord have to banish them? they had asked, their anger patent but it had not deterred the lord in his determination to keep them away.

Legolas lay draped over a long settee, his hair streaming down to the floor, eyes vacant in sleep.

"I do not think he has slept for the entire time he has been away," said Elrond as he watched the insensate figure pensively.

"How is this possible, Mithrandir? asked Glorfindel, his own eyes still unable to move away from the Silvan.

"Mithrandir's wise, shrewd eyes were unfocussed as he thought.

"It is this physical change that confirms my suspicions, Glorfindel," he began carefully. "Your descriptions of what happened in Celebrian's gardens was already highly indicative but this," he gestured with his hands, "this is undeniably the work of the Valar," he said, as if what he himself was saying were impossible.

"There is a, _detail_ , we have not yet mentioned, Mithrandir, for with all that has happened, with all we had to tell you of…"

"What detail, Elrond?" asked the wizard as he sat forward.

"He draws," began Elrond, "line drawings that in spite of their simplicity, are startlingly representative; he keeps them in a diary of sorts. One morning, this journal was open upon the table and I found Glorfindel here, staring at it in shock for you see," he said meaningfully, "there was a drawing - a sketch of a woman of great beauty. Her hair was longer than her own body, wild and untamed, and her eyes seemed to sparkle. I thought I knew who it was, and indeed, Glorfindel's shock was all the confirmation I needed. There was no doubt in my mind that that drawing was of Yavanna…"

"Did you ask him," asked Mithrandir urgently, "did you ask him why he had drawn it?" he said, his gaze heavy.

"Oh yes. He said he had seen her in a dream…"

Mithrandir sat back, his blue eyes twinkling in understanding. "It is as I had thought then," he said in awe, before his eyes focussed and he looked first at Glorfindel and then at Elrond.

"What is it?" asked Glorfindel, "tell us what you know, Mithrandir," he said somewhat curtly.

"He is a Protege…"

"A what?" asked Elrond in confusion.

"An elf who garners the protection of a Vala…"

Both elves frowned, looking to each other in utter puzzlement before rounding on Mithrandir.

"Why would a Vala protect Legolas?" asked Elrond, his own apprehension clear. "He surely does not need protection…. does he?" he asked, suddenly unsure.

"To be a Protege, Elrond, it comes with a price. I should know, for I am one…" he said simply.

Elrond and Glorfindel stood in stunned silence. Aye they knew Mithrandir was an Ainur, a servant of the Valar, but that he was protected by a Vala…

"Who," said Glorfindel, "who protects you?", a strange fear taking hold of him.

"Manwe is my Vala, Glorfindel."

"But, why, what is the purpose then, why name a Protege? I mean surely it is not simply a whim…"

"A whim? oh no, my friend," said the wizard with a benevolent smile. "To be a Protege is a great gift, but as I said, it comes with a price."

"And what is the price?" whispered Elrond.

"A Protege is chosen to fulfil a purpose, Elrond. I cannot disclose mine, not yet, and Legolas may well not yet understand his. The fact remains that this purpose, this cause, will override all else in his life. He will live to uphold it, even if he must disobey his lords, forfeit that which he holds dearest, even unto his own death if that is what it takes."

Mithrandir's words were met with silence, and then a deep breath as Elrond stood and turned to the window. "Life has been cruel to him - even the Valar have not seen fit to give him respite."

"Nay, Elrond. That is not it at all. It _is_ a gift, even though you cannot see that now. I do not say it is not a sacrifice, for it is, but there will be boons, too. But look beyond these things, my friend, for is it not true that the boy seems to have been born with the idea of serving, of being a captain, a warrior so that he may protect his people?"

"That is what they say, yes."

"Then you see. The Valar have chosen well. He chose that road, in spite of the Valar. All they have done is help him along the way, give him a greater sense of purpose, if that is possible."

Glorfindel stood abruptly, before striding from the room in silence, walking past the expectant elves outside without a care for their failed attempts at garnering his attention. Soon, he was walking away from the house, away from the presence of elves, away from it all, and with every step he took, his anger ignited and inflamed, and when he was finally alone, he damned Mithrandir, Thranduil, damned Lassiel, damned even Oropher and above all, he damned the Valar, for what right did they have? Between them all they had made an extraordinary elf, had moulded him into what he was just yesterday. By his own merits he had slowly been finding a sense of equilibrium, of peace, only to have it utterly shattered and his world twisted once more.

What _boon_ is this? he sneered in disgust. Have you no _heart_? he pleaded as he hung his head in grief for the child that was the nearest thing to a son he would ever have.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Thranduil's court was teaming, brimming with councillors and legislators, lords and ladies, commanders and captains, all of them decked in their most distinguished attire, their jewels on display for the first time in many years, for through the cycles of Thranduil's grief, there had been no events worthy enough to don them.

And so the Sindar milled here and there, stopping to chat, their eyes wandering to the Silvan councillors and their companions who did likewise, although their mannerisms were clearly different, for where the Sindar were refined and muted, bejewelled and opulent, the Silvans were effusive and passionate, simple and unadorned, save for their hair, where they would wear all imaginable shapes and sizes of flowers and vines, coloured cords and even river stones.

Most of the Sindar watched them in interest, some in amusement even, and others with a sneer that would not be veiled.

And Aradan watched it all, wishing his disciple, Prince Handir, could be here so that he may learn. He smiled softly at the thought of the Prince, for a great affection joined them, and Aradan held much respect for the young elf who, although an adult, was still not counted amongst the worldly wise. Still he had achieved great things, but the most important to Aradan, was that he had reached that point where one is able to look past the veil of self; see and analyse things from above, without the prejudice of one's own beliefs. It was no small feat and yet Handir had done just that with the appearance of his half brother.

Turning, he saw Tirion, dressed in his formal uniform that marked him as a Sindarin Captain. Gesturing to him, he greeted the warrior warmly.

"How are things at the barracks, Tirion? Is city life agreeing with you, or is the great open wild calling you?" he asked with a smirk.

Tirion returned it. "Well, a bit of both I suppose. Aye I miss the young ones but this was the price I paid so that Legolas could pursue his training - that is payment enough," he smiled and Aradan nodded. Indeed that was exactly what the captain had done, a boon that Commander Celegon had wrought from him, in exchange for sending Legolas to Imladris.

"What an event," said the captain absently as he watched the elves around him.

"Aye," said Aradan. It promises to be - _interesting_ at the least," he said a little evasively and Tirion turned to him in askance.

"There has been little forthcoming knowledge on the summit, Lord Aradan. The warriors are anxious that perhaps something has happened, and the Lords reckon new trade routes are to be opened. Yet it is the Silvans that puzzle me," he said with a frown.

Aradan turned to the Captain and studied him for a moment. "How so? What do they say?" he asked.

"That is the point. They do not; they say nothing - they simply smile, as if they know something the rest of us do not. True there are many who are oblivious, but I tell you, something strange is happening and I would wager on the truth of it," he turned now, his eyes sparkling with a challenge, and Aradan nodded.

"You would not be wrong, Captain. It is done - Legolas knows, and so too, does our King."

Tirion blew out a noisy breath. "Well, that is a relief, at least, although dare I ask the King's reaction?"

Aradan shook his head, "I cannot disclose that now, Tirion, but you are about to find out, that much I can promise," he said, his head gesturing now to the open doors of the great Council Hall, where the king now stood.

A collective gasp echoed around the now, utterly silent hall, for there, standing in all his Sindarin glory, was Thranduil Oropherion, as he had not been seen in centuries, and Aradan beamed and shone in joy and pride, as Tirion simply gaped, and then lowered his head in respect.

For years, centuries, Thranduil had walked the fortress in silence, his light muted, his voice curt and inexpressive. It had become the norm, and although he had still been respected, he had become a beautiful shadow, sad and bereft - nothing at all comparable to the imposing figure that now stood in silence before them.

A shimmering silver vest of thin, exquisite armour, lay over a sky blue shirt of fine silk, and a skirt of muted violet that reached down to his calves. His cloak was of a beautiful moss green, so long it hung behind him and pooled upon the polished stone floor in a short trail, and upon his head of silver hair, lay the crown he had not worn since the Queen had left, hugging his face and cheekbones as would a lover's hands.

At his hip, sat a mighty sword Aradan knew had been Oropher's and as the king began to walk down the centre of the hall, all he passed bowed low, their faces showing their awe and respect. If Thranduil had been looking to make a statement, he had certainly passed the test, for everything about him screamed 'I am back, strong, invincible,'.

Three loud, dull thuds marked the commencement of the summit, and it fell to Aradan to pronounce the onset of the talks and so, with a nod at Tirion, he moved into the centre of the circle of speakers and opened his arms to the crowds.

"My Lords, Ladies, Warriors and Merchants, subjects all. Please be welcome to the court of our King Thranduil Oropherion," said Aradan in his loud, clear voice, practised and honed over many centuries of political service.

"Today, we commence what we have called the Greenwood Summit, for we hope it will be the first of many, to be held every three years. Its purpose?" he asked somewhat theatrically, thus assuring himself the continued attention of them all, "to bring together the representatives of the Sindar, the Silvan and Avarin people; to share our problems, our worries, to solve our problems and lend aid, wherever it may be needed, so that The Greenwood may be great once more, that she prosper to the best of her abilities. For this, we have called upon you, good elves of The Greenwood. Together we will pave the way for a better land, a more just and prosperous society."

Here he stopped and waited for the timid applause to dwindle.

"For today, our King Thranduil has an announcement to make. After, an inquiry into the state of the land will be heard and documented, so that tomorrow, we may begin the talks."

Turning, and gesturing to the king, Aradan stepped aside and all eyes fell to the shockingly beautiful figure of their imposing monarch.

Lord Bandorion, brother of Oropher himself, in spite of his opposition to this king, could not deny his beauty and strength. He cast a sideways glance at his son, Barathon, and his close friend Draugole, an expression upon his face that was not easy to read, for if Bandorion was good at one thing, it was in the art of masking the truth. Thus the Sindarin purists stood together, their sympathisers close by, watching, and waiting with baited breath for the announcement that the king would make.

"My Lords, Ladies, Warriors and Merchants. I welcome you warmly to my court, for the news I bring you today is cause for joy," he said, his voice loud and commanding, diction clear and well modulated, for Thranduil was a master of rhetoric. "I hope you too, will rejoice with me, for I must now announce the existence of a fourth child, son of my blood, son of the House of Oropher…"

A gasp precluded the onset of frantic voices that rapidly rose to a din, many in genuine shock and curiosity, yet others were words of outrage, but all of them were Sindarin, for the Silvans stood silently, a knowing smile upon their faces, smiles that slowly widened until their teeth shone in the morning light, until all attention suddenly fell upon them as one elf proclaimed over the din…

"All hail The Silvan!" he cried, and a mighty cheer rang out loud and clear, before another voice proclaimed, "All hail Legolas Thranduilion!" The cheer was louder now as the Silvans raised their clenched fists as one. Aradan's fine hairs stood on end, his eyes frantically searching the faces of Thranduil, Rinion, Bandorion…

Some of the Sindarins chuckled at the Silvan antics, some stood frozen with indecision and others, those he already knew of, sneered arrogantly. All this he had expected, but there was one thing he could not have foreseen - the joy of the Silvans - that, and the fact that they had called Thranduil's son by his name - before the King had had time to do so.

They _knew_ \- they had _always_ known and now, Aradan knew the Greenwood would be tossed into a heaving sea of strong wills and demands and that now, more than ever, this absurd rivalry between Sindar and Silvan, would come to a head, with Legolas in the midst of it.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Elrond, Glorfindel and Mithrandir took the evening meal in the rooms they had appointed to Legolas, for the elf had not woken yet. They had, however, conceded to allow Idhrenohtar to enter, for the elf had not taken no for an answer and had badgered them endlessly until they had acquiesced, albeit with the condition that Idhrenohtar must not intervene in any discussion that took place once Legolas awoke - that he would not touch or coddle, for Mithrandir had explained that Legolas' briefing, once he awoke, was the work of a wizard.

Idhrenohtar had promised to sit quietly in a corner and observe, in exchange for the privilege of being present - doomed though he was, to listen and keep silent. That did not mean he could not make himself useful though, and when the servants arrived with the trays of food, he was the one to take them at the door, and bar the curious stares the servants cast inside the room, for rumour was rife, Imladris turned into a mass of furiously whispering Noldor.

The lords stood, stretching their legs and making way for the trays which they sat upon the low tables.

"Idhrenohtar, join us?" said Glorfindel with a smile, a peace offering, thought the Wise Warrior as he stood and bowed, before approaching the group and sitting a little stiffly.

"Be at ease, Idhren, we are all here for the same reasons, even if you do not believe that," said the Commander as he bit into a leg of chicken somewhat unceremoniously.

"I do not doubt your concern for Hwindo - I mean Legolas, but I do doubt your love for him."

Elrond stared at the Silvan warrior for a moment, assessing him, it seemed. "They call you the Wise Warrior," said Elrond conversationally, "are you then, wise?" he asked as he bit into his own chicken a little more elegantly than Glorfindel had.

"It is what they say. I have a passion for philosophy, my Lord, always have done from the moment my tutor instructed me in rational thinking."

Elrond's eyebrows rose, clearly not having expected that. "Indeed?" he asked.

"It is indeed a strange pastime for one born into a family of Silvan warriors, but that does not bother me. My readings have held me in good stead for my training as a warrior, however much that might seem strange."

"No, no, I can see that," said Elrond, before Glorfindel spoke.

"You may be good with strategy," he suggested.

"Yes - I am an above average student in that field, my Lord, although it is Hwindohtar here who truly excels," he said, his eyes moving to the slumbering elf, a hint of worry behind his young blue eyes.

"Has he always been precocious?" asked Mithrandir.

"Oh yes, my Lord. Fighting comes naturally to him, as does leadership. What you have seen of him upon the fields so far, my Lord Glorfindel, is nothing, in comparison to what he is capable of."

"I know he is good, Idhrenohtar. I can see potential when I have it before me, but he must still have many things to learn," said Glorfindel evenly, still nibbling on his chicken bone.

"He holds back, my Lord. He does not wish to draw attention to himself, for to do so in the past often brought him strife," said Idhreno carefully.

"Oh?" asked Elrond.

"Indeed, not all the children were accepting of one so clearly above them in so many things. It was mine and Ram en Ondo's self-appointed duty to protect him from those that would hurt him."

"He was bullied, then?"

"In a sense, and for a while. Not physically but the names they called him cut him like a knife, my Lord - you can imagine the specifics, of course," he said quietly.

"Indeed," muttered Elrond as he wiped his hands on his serviette.

It was then, that Legolas stretched a leg and twisted onto his back, his slumber only slowly ending. He took a deep breath and then opened his eyes.

Mithrandir stood over him, with Elrond and Glorfiindel at his shoulders. Idhreno, as he had promised, stayed out of the way, albeit he missed nothing of what transpired.

"Legolas," called the wizard, addressing the young elf for the first time, aware that the child would not know who he was, but when his own blue eyes first beheld the slanted green eyes of the Silvan, he could not help but startle.

"My lady is capricious," he muttered as if to himself, but it had been loud enough for Glorfindel to hear, and to understand.

Legolas' eyes locked with those of the wizard, and there they stayed for longer than strictly necessary, before he spoke, quietly and evenly.

"Who are you?" he asked simply.

"I, am Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, Gandalf, if you prefer," he said.

Legolas continued to stare at the old man, before he nodded, and then pushed himself up and leaned against the cushions behind him, his face rested and apparently serene.

"Legolas," asked Elrond, "how are you feeling?" he asked. "Are you hungry?"

"I am well, my Lord. I need nothing," he added, his voice soft and his eyes distant, only half present and perhaps that was, indeed, the case, thought Idhrenohtar.

"What can you tell us, child, of what happened in the forest?" asked Mithrandir matter-of-factly as he turned to the window.

"Nothing - for the moment," said Legolas in the same monotonous voice, a voice that seemed deeper to Idhrenohtar than it had been before.

"It is of vital importance that you tell us, child, if I am to help you with this - gift," he said, somewhat indignant it seemed, that Legolas had refused to speak.

"As I said, Mithrandir," he paused for a moment, his gaze steady and confident, "I will not speak of it for the moment. I wish for silence, and solitude, nothing more," he said levelly, and the Wise Warrior was proud of a sudden, that his friend should be so even tempered, so - authoritative - with such venerable lords that sought to push him into speaking.

"Silence and solitude," came the gruff voice. "Elrond, perhaps you can speak some sense into the boy," said the wizard in irritation as he walked out onto the balcony and tapped his clay pipe upon the hand rail before him.

Elrond stepped forward, and Legolas laid his eyes upon the lord, and if the Noldo had been about to speak, he thought better of it, for the green eyes of the Silvan were not welcoming, indeed they were bold and challenging. With a curt nod, he finally said, "eat something, Legolas," and then turned away to join Mithrandir on the balcony.

Collecting his feet below him, he slowly rose from the couch and turned to Idhrenohtar. "Can you find me a tunic, brother?"

Idhreno smiled, and then wider when it was softly returned, before leaving the room in search of something for his half-naked friend to wear.

Legolas turned then to Glorfindel who, as yet, had not spoken, indeed he sat cross-legged, staring at Legolas expectantly.

"They mean well, Legolas."

"I know. But I am not willing to speak of it. When I need to, I will - but not yet," he said again and Glorfindel's brows twitched as he observed the changes that had been wrought in him, wondering if they were extensive to his mind, for the boy seemed older some how, more mature, more confident.

"What will you do now?" asked Glorfindel, still watching Legolas closely, the play of his corded muscles as he reached for his boots.

"I would continue with my training, my Lord. I hope that will not change for I have much to learn from you," he said as he pulled the soft leather over his feet.

"Do you?" asked Glorfindel, drawing Legolas' attention to him once more. "Idhrenohtar says you hold back - afraid to stand out amongst the others," he said, watching his friend for a reaction.

"That was before, my Lord. I will not do that again and still - I say I have much to learn - that, and the Qalma Liltie, if you are still amenable."

Just then, Idhrenohtar returned with a blue suede tunic which Legolas slipped on over his black breeches, but his hair was trapped inside it, and try as he might, he could not free it.

"Here, let me help you with this -Lainion is going to have a fit," muttered the Wise Warrior, but Legolas did not laugh as he had expected, rather he smiled a sad smile and sat, his eyes distant once more.

"How can I braid this," he muttered again, but Legolas did not answer, for he was once again, far far away.

Minutes later, Elrond and Mithrandir watched as the strange Silvan elf walking into the gardens with his friends in tow, but there was one dark-haired elf amongst them - Elladan.

"Your son walks with them," commented Mithrandir as he puffed on his pipe.

"Aye," said Elrond pensively. "They are becoming good friends; Elladan has decided on a path, it seems."

"And what path is that?" asked Mithrandir, and Elrond could not tell if he already knew the answer to that question.

"The path of a warrior - and a healer."

"Is that all?" asked the wizard again and this time, Elrond knew he held back.

"Perhaps not," was all he said. But to give voice to what he suspected was to bring that eventuality to light, and that was not something Elrond wished to contemplate, not just yet.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

For the next full day, Legolas simply sat in Celebrian's gardens, at the base of the winter blooming sentinel.

Some distance away, Elladan and The Company sat together in quiet conversation, one eye on each other and the other on Legolas. He seemed peaceful enough, indeed sometimes he even smiled, moving his head this way or that, as if he were listening to something others could not hear, indeed Elladan did not doubt that was exactly the case.

They would not intrude, would not push him into speaking of what had happened deep in the forest; they knew him well enough to know that he would not be forced, that he would speak in his own time, indeed he had refused to talk even to Mithrandir and Elrond.

Yet some things did not need to be given voice, for they were obvious enough to any who looked closely enough. Those four days had been life changing for Legolas. Whatever had happened had been enough to take away the last vestiges of childhood innocence, and in its absence, plant the seeds of a greater wisdom. It had lent him peace, it seemed, calm serenity, the kind of aura his father was capable of emitting, or indeed Galadriel herself.

There was a common denominator, Elladan was sure, yet he would not venture to understand the nature of it, not until Legolas spoke, if he ever did.

That night, when they had all gone their separate ways, Elladan made his way to his father's rooms. He found him sitting before a single candle upon the table, the Greenwood scroll before him, as yet untouched.

"May I join you?" asked Elladan, watching his father closely.

"Of course. I was about to read the missive from Thranduil," said the lord somewhat distractedly.

"Would you prefer I leave?" asked Elladan, hoping his father would allow him to stay.

"No, stay. But speak not of it, Elladan, whatever is contained in these lines - not until our council."

"Alright," agreed Elladan, settling into a chair and watching as his father slowly reached for the scroll and broke the seal with a crunch of wax that seemed overly loud to Elladan.

Pulling the curled edges apart, Elrond's light grey eyes began to dance over the parchment, and Elladan followed them, as if he could, perhaps, read his father's emotions, discern the contents of the letter on the strength of his expressions. But alas he could not and so he waited with baited breath until Elrond's eyes left the page and he looked squarely at Elladan.

"He is recognising his son. He is announcing his existence to The Greenwood even as we speak…"

Elladan was stunned, unsure of what to say, and as the information slowly sunk into his sluggish mind, a cautious smile broke out on his face. Could it be that simple, he wondered?

"A third prince then?" asked Elladan.

"No. Not a Prince, for he was born outside wedlock - it would not be acceptable. He says no more for the moment and I can only guess he wishes to gauge the reaction of his subjects before he takes any official action."

"Understandable," muttered Elladan, but the smile had not left his face and he suddenly wished he hadn't promised his father to remain silent, for there was nothing he wanted more now than to run to his new friend and wipe away the days of anxiety, the unbearable uncertainty he had suffered, not knowing if he was to be loved or repudiated."

"Elladan. Not a word. We do not know what the other missives contain - Legolas has one, too."

Elladan stared at his father, and then nodded. He was right, for who could guess what the king would say to the son he did not know?

Some corridors away, Handir sat in the privacy of his rooms, a scroll open upon his lap and a satisfied smile upon his face. A sudden wave of respect washed over him, for his father and his courage, in spite of the opposition he knew this decision would bring him. He was torn then, between finishing his education with Erestor, and flying back to the Greenwood, for he would be needed. Yet Aradan was there, and three months was not so long, and so, with a determined breath, he resolved to learn all he could from Erestor, and then return home and begin what had become the reason for his own existence. Restore Greenwood the Great to the cosmopolitan society it had once been, where peace and justice reigned over intolerance and racism.

Legolas sat cross-legged upon his bed, within the new suite of rooms he had been assigned, much to his own chagrin, for he was no lord, no prince to be given such deference. He was a warrior, with no rank or title and he was happy with that.

The scroll lay before him upon the white sheets, as yet unopened, and thus it had been for the past hour when he had retired for the evening and refused all offers of company. He needed solitude, for his mind was simply saturated with things he desperately needed to think on, to assimilate, to understand. Aye he knew they worried for him - The Company - for even now they sat under the cold winter moon outside, drinking wine and talking - of him no doubt. He could not blame them for that, for who could have foreseen that an insignificant provocation of his gift would trigger such a transcendental event - one he could not speak of - for where to start? The thought brought a chuckle of exasperation to his throat, and then he looked at the scroll once more.

What was one scroll now, to one that had seen things he had never thought to see in all the millennia of his life - even if it had been in dreams - if that is what they had been. Indeed of a sudden, Legolas understood that this missive was the last stone upon his road forward, the only thing that separated him from peace, at last, the last stone that would fit into the puzzle that had been his life until just days ago.

His hand reached for the yellow parchment and his eyes studied the seal - the royal seal of the House of Oropher…

With a steadying breath and an unsteady hand, he cracked the wax and pulled the scroll open, where graceful Tengwar sprawled out before him - the hand of his father, words that had come from his heart, that would seal his destiny.


	38. Message For The Noldor

Author's notes

I just wanted to clear up a couple of points. Firstly, if you have read The Protege, remember this story is not a prequel to that one. This story is based on the idea of The Protege and as such, events will not happen the same way.

Secondly, I have noticed that since the publishing of The Protege, there have been several stories that use the idea of an elite team of warriors. Please note that the Protege is prior to the stories I am referring to and as such, did not use other people's ideas, rather the opposite is probably the case.

Naledi, never fear. Your wish is my command, read on and be pacified :)))

Rita Orca: I am impressed - capricious indeed! Thank you, as always, for the injection of motivation.

Guests: thank you, as always.

Chapter thirty-eight: A Message for The Noldor

"I am sorry - sorry that I worried you, that was never my intention," said Legolas as he sat amongst The Company. "Do not deny it, brothers; I have seen it, just as I have seen your resentment of Lord Elrond and Mithrandir for not allowing you to see me.

"What right did they have to bar those closest to you? After an ordeal such as the one you have lived through? Surely you needed the company of friends, not intrusive lords and wizards that would interrogate you err you even opened your eyes!" finished Ram en, now having thoroughly riled himself.

And he was not alone, and Legolas watched them as one by one, they added their own thoughts and comments and when they had finished, and still, Legolas did not speak, they simply stared at him in curious silence.

"I understand you, and I understand them - brothers," he said as he leant forward. "But do not underestimate what has transpired here," he began carefully, watching as their expressions changed from indignant to concerned.

"I cannot speak of it all - but I must tell you the short of it, for it will affect us all, and there are decisions you must make as individuals…"

They did not speak, did not move, they simply stared, still oblivious to the significance of Legolas' experience.

"My gift," he began, his eyes moving over them all. "I was not born with it - it was given to me or rather, I was chosen - for a purpose…"

Legolas understood their baffled expressions, their confused silence for his own words had seemed strangely impossible. _Chosen_ , he had said …

"I cannot disclose that purpose entirely, for I do not understand it myself. But a large part of it is to defend the work of Yavanna, protect the forests and the people that live within. You may ask," he continued, "what difference there is between this purpose and that which I have always wanted to achieve, and the answer would be _nothing_ \- nothing at all. If I was chosen for this it is because this was always my aim in life, in spite of the Valar and their wishes. I know there is more to it, and the lords know that too, but for now and for me, it is enough."

"And so, why do you deem this so significant?" asked Rhrawthir in puzzlement, "if it changes nothing."

"But it _does_ , brother. My purpose must not be impeded by land or lord, Rhrawthir. I must answer to no one in my efforts, save to she who commands me…"

The Company sat in dawning understanding, but kept their silence as Legolas elaborated.

"The point being, that I must somehow gain my freedom, freedom to act where and when necessary. Now I am not a liberty to decide over my own wanderings, for I am a warrior of King Thranduil's militia and although I do not want that to change, I must garner my king's understanding of this, my calling. I must try to secure for myself a position in which I may continue to serve the Greenwood _and_ my Lady and thus, fulfil that which I have been charged with."

"But you are not even a lieutenant yet, Legolas. How can you possibly hope to achieve this?" asked Ram en Ondo.

"With time, I can only hope, Ram en. I understand this will not happen now. I am limited by my own inexperience, but neither can I stand by idly. I will talk with my King no sooner we return."

"You will speak with - your _father_?" asked Lindohtar in shock.

"Yes. That is inevitable as I now know, for I am summoned to his presence no sooner we return to The Greenwood."

"And you are - alright with this?" asked Idhrenohtar slowly.

"I will not say I am not - apprehensive. Indeed that inevitable moment weighs heavily on my chest. The thought of meeting the one I thought dead, or exiled. Meeting my father, the one that created me for the sole purpose of giving life to his lover…" he broke off, his mind shouting at him to be angry, and yet he could not. For the first time in his life, Legolas spoke of his father without that all too familiar pain of abandonment, the self-pity and resentment. It had left him, and in its wake there was only quiet acceptance.

"But I cannot avoid it for he is king and I - have a purpose. I must not be swayed from it, in spite of my own emotions."

"And you think that is going to be easy? asked Lainion, somewhat irked it seemed, at Legolas' submission to Yavanna's will.

"No. I know it will not be and that brings me to the point. You all have a decision to make…"

"Speak it," said Idhrenohtar.

"My plan, is to create a group of trusted warriors that would ride with me, wherever we are needed, wherever the forest cries or her people suffer. I would have The Company with me, the best warriors the Greenwood has. Ten elves under the command of the King himself, but with the explicit permission to heed the call of the trees, even against his own wishes."

Silence ensued and was not quick to disappear as each member of The Company processed the information Legolas had so clearly and convincingly laid before them.

"I have always been by your side, Legolas - I will not change that now, or ever. The cause is noble and I, Idhrenohtar, will serve with no one else save with you," said Idhrenohtar, standing tall and proud and Legolas slowly rose to meet him, a soft smile spreading over his lovely face. Before long, Ram en Ondo, Lindohtar, Rhrawthir and finally Dimaethor, did likewise and when all five warriors had sworn their allegiance, for the first time they bowed as they would to a lord, because from now on, that is what Legolas was to them. He had no rank, no title, no surname, and yet Yavanna had charged him with a purpose, had deemed _him_ fit to carry out her will. The Company would do no less, and neither would they suffer others to gainsay his claim to leadership now.

Elladan was the last to rise from the ground, for he was not a member of The Company.

"Legolas," he said, turning to face the Silvan. "I am not a member of The Company for I am sworn to my father's service but," he paused, "I wonder if, when the time comes and your king gives you leave, I wonder if perhaps you would allow me to join you, for a time?"

"You would be most welcome, Elladan. To The Company if you so wish it," said Legolas sincerely. "Would your father give you leave, then?" he asked hopefully.

"In light of what has happened these last few days, Legolas, I do not doubt he would. The question is, for how long."

"I wonder, if one day we will have a Noldorin member of The Company, a son of Elrond no less," smiled the Silvan, and Elladan smiled back, for truth be told, there was nothing he wanted more.

Soon enough, Legolas left them to join Glorfindel for his additional training, the training neither warrior would speak of. As for the rest of The Company, they slowly walked to the main training area to join the rest of the Noldor.

"He is changed," said Idhrenohtar flatly.

"Aye. He seems - sad; as if a great weight sat upon his shoulders," mused Lindohtar.

"I think that is exactly what it is," said Elladan. "He has been charged by Yavanna herself to do this thing, whatever it may be. A Valar, no less, has chosen our young friend to defend her creation - it is humbling and difficult even, to assimilate. He has grown far beyond his years in but four days and yet he has it so clear in his mind. Strange times," he said quietly, raking a hand through his blue-black hair.

"And you, Elladan. Would you join The Company, if you could? If your father gave you leave?"

"I cannot believe he would release me of my duties here, yet I have hope he can spare me for some time. But in answer to your question, Lindo, yes. Yes I would join The Company, for _there_ is a noble cause, a better group of brothers I have never met.

With that the five members of The Company smiled indulgently, all of them wondering, and hoping, that Elrond of Imladris would look past his son's duty to the Valley, and give him leave to fulfil a higher goal; defend the forests of Arda.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

That evening, Legolas had dined at the head table, together with Handir. They had talked of this and that but nothing of the extraordinary events of the last few days, for they had an avid audience, one that would not stop staring at Legolas and his extraordinarily long hair.

Lainion had once again created a masterpiece of Avarin art by twisting the upper layers of hair into thick locks he then gathered up and bunched high upon the Silvan's crown. With the rest, he wove in braids of different designs along the sides, pulling some of them back and leaving others to flow down to the small of his back.

Legolas could feel its heavy weight, feel it pulling on his scalp. It would take some getting used to and although it did not displease him, he wondered at the practicality of it.

Handir too, was mesmerised by it, until he was caught off guard by Erestor, who had asked a question and received no answer.

"Forgive me, my Lord. I was lost for a moment."

Good, thought Erestor. The boy does not mask his inattention. He is straight and sincere, humble yet not to the point of submission. He had extraordinary qualities, and although he was nowhere finished with the second prince of the Greenwood, he was already passing pleased with his progress.

"It is a magnificent piece of work, Legolas," said the councillor, admiring the braids and clips of the luscious silver-blond mane.

"Thank you, my Lord. The merit goes to Dimaethor, or Lainion," he corrected himself. Erestor's eyes glanced over the dark avari sitting at a nearby table, before turning back to Legolas and asking, "do they have some sort of significance? In Noldorin society, each type of braid says something about the one that wears it. Lord Elrond for example. By simply looking at him, we know he is Lord of his own land, we know he is Noldo, and we know he is the son of Eärendil. We know he has been a warrior and a healer…."

"Don't forget lore master, Erestor," added Elrohir, "there, see, that knot says it is so," he said, pointing to it and earning an arched eyebrow from his father.

"I admit," said Legolas, "that I do not know. I threw myself into Lainion's skilful hands without a thought for what he may do, but after your explanation, my Lord, I will certainly ask the lieutenant about it," he said with a soft smile, before it vanished from his face and he turned to Elrond, all traces of pleasantries gone now, for his eyes shone with intensity and the Lord of the Valley was compelled to heed him.

"My Lord. I must speak with you after our meal, with you and - your sons…"

Elrond scowled and then cocked his head to one side.

"Of course. Although I admit you have me intrigued that it cannot wait for our council tomorrow," he said, not unkindly.

"It could wait, my Lord, but what I have to say to you is not appropriate for a public council. It is for your ears only," he said seriously and quietly so that only those at the head table would hear.

Elrond held his gaze, as Elladan and Elrohir glanced at each other in puzzlement.

"So be it," said the lord as lightly as he could, but no one missed the undercurrents in his tone, the veiled worry that only he and his sons had been mentioned. Legolas saw this and smiled encouragingly, and any who looked on, would have seen a wise elf, an elf that could surely not sport but seven hundred and forty-four years…

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

With dinner finally over, Elrond invited Legolas to his own suite of rooms for a nightcap, to which Legolas had nodded, leaving with the Lord and his family to leave the dining hall, under the attentive gaze of Glorfindel, Erestor and Handir. Whatever it was that Legolas wanted with Elrond, it was of a personal nature yet none of them could even begin to understand what it was. What _was_ certain, was that the changes wrought in Legolas were far from merely aesthetic, for where there was once youthful uncertainty, now there was quiet and humble authority, and where there had been emotional vulnerability, now - there was silent strength.

"Come Legolas. Sit and tell us what it is you have to share with us," began Elrond as he passed Legolas a goblet of liquor.

Legolas breathed deeply as he sat back in his comfortable chair, sensing as the twin brothers sat and drank, their sparkling silver eyes anchored on his own green irises.

After a moment to gather his thoughts, Legolas centred his gaze on Elrond. "The other day, in the gardens, my Lord. Some things were revealed to me, things I must now relay to you, and your sons."

"Elrond sat forward in his chair. "You should have spoken to Mithrandir about this, indeed he is still here if you so wish," he said kindly.

"Lord Elrond," said Legolas, a note of irritation seeping into his words, for he still remembered the wizard's failed interrogation no sooner he had woken from his strange slumber, "Mithrandir may be wise in the ways of magic and of the Valar, but his tactic was not appreciated," said Legolas, his eyes impressing his meaning, watching as Elrond showed for just a moment, his surprise that Legolas would speak so of the Ainur.

"Go on," was all he said.

"This information that I have, it is not for Mithrandir, my Lord. It is for _you_ for had it not been, I would have requested his presence. I have not," was all he said, controlling his irritation for there was nothing Legolas wanted more than to rid himself of the strange images and feelings he had perceived in the gardens, and Elrond did nothing but persist in his somewhat patronising tone.

Indeed the Lord held his gaze, eyes searching and analysing and for a moment, it unnerved the young Silvan.

"Do not be riled, Legolas," said Elrond kindly, "remember that until two days ago, you were but a child of less than a millennia; young and inexperienced. I can see that has changed but it is I and perhaps the others, that need time to adjust to you as you are now. We have your best interests at heart," he said, watching the Silvan for his reaction.

"I do not doubt that, my Lord," he said sincerely with a smile. "You have been nothing but kind and helpful to me, in spite of the strife I have brought to your house. I apologise but you must understand," he said, emotion now shining through his words, "so much has happened in the last few days, so many things I cannot understand. To speak of them before I can assimilate it all is a futile task, my Lord. Whatever information I could offer you would be diffuse and incoherent for the most part. You need time and that is logical, but so too do _I_ ," he said emphatically.

"Agreed," said Elrond with a smile of his own. "I apologise if I have been overly - forthright," he said, without further justification, indeed Legolas did not need it, he knew Elrond's heart was sincere.

"I know we have much to speak of at the council tomorrow, decisions that need to be made, in light of the Greenwood missives and I have not come to speak of that, for to do so would be to repeat myself. I have come because I believe I saw something, felt something that concerns you and your sons…"

Elrond scowled and his sons shared a concerned look before they too, sat at the edge of their seats.

"The garden," he began, "that garden was neglected and I did not rightly understand at the time I simply stumbled upon it. Later, I realised why - they were your Lady's gardens, were they not?" asked Legolas softly.

Elrond's expression was blank, and he simply nodded.

"You do not visit that place anymore - nobody does for to do so brings - memories that are too painful."

Legolas chanced a somewhat shy glance at the three Noldor that looked so much like each other, that now shared the same, worried expression, the same expressive silence.

"The tree - the sentinel remembers…" said Legolas, his eyes losing focus as he remembered the visions and sensations that had sent him to his knees.

"It was dying," he continued, "dying of neglect, of sorrow, of a grief that it had inherited from the lady who spent her last anguished days there, beneath its boughs, sat upon its roots as she dispaired of her ordeal…"

"What do you know?" asked Elrohir quietly but harshly, his face now set in a steely expression that warned of mounting ire, but Legolas could not stop now.

"It is not _I_ who knows but the sentinel, Lord Elrohir, I speak of what it told me, what it showed me…"

"Elrohir, calm yourself," said Elrond evenly, even though his eyes were too bright as they turned back to Legolas, his eyes demanding he continue.

"I felt her pain, her anguish, her torment at the prospect of leaving you behind, the soul rending agony of deciding between you and her own death for I felt the moment she realised that she had to leave for you - for had she not she would have faded and so too, perhaps, would you…"

"She left because she could not bare what happened to her, could not live with the memories…" offered Elrohir, "in spite of her sons and her spouse's wishes, she left because she was not strong enough…." but Legolas was speaking again.

"No. She left because she _was_ strong enough - for _you_. Had she stayed she would gladly have faded for I felt her relief at the mere thought. She left so that she would not fade, she renounced her heart's true desire - for you, so that you would see her again soonest - she sacrificed her own peace, even though she knew you did not understand it at the time…" finished Legolas, a sole tear escaping his eyes and running sluggishly down his cheek. "She knew you did not understand her motives, but even that was not enough to sway her because she knew, Elrohir, that one day when she was once more whole and hail, she could make you understand."

Elrohir stood abruptly and turned to the window, his back now to the others.

"And a tree, told you all this…" he said, but it was not a real question, it was a manifestation of his skepticism.

"Who else, my Lord? How else would I know what I know? These things are not documented, and the tears in your own eyes tell me my words ring true. It is your anger, your frustration that drives your words now."

"You presume much, Legolas. You presume I appreciate your perceptions, that it will help me in some way to accept that her departure was an act of sacrifice on her part, and not a selfish, cowardly…"

"Elrohir!" shouted Elrond, but to no avail for his bitterness ran deep.

Legolas rose from his chair and slowly approached Elrohir, whose eyes were now glinting in the soft candle light.

"No coward endures what she did and even so, resists the call of Mandos for the sake of her children, her soul mate. It is the ultimate act of bravery…"

There were a few moments of stunned silence, until the mighty crack of skin against skin ripped through the room and everyone froze, including Legolas, whose face had been slapped to one side so harshly his hair now covered it, as if to protect it.

It was, however, Elrohir, who finally sunk slowly to his knees and bowed his head.

"Forgive me," he whispered in misery.

Legolas' face slowly returned to Elrohir, before getting down on his own knees so that his eyes could capture those of Elrohir, who could no longer hold back the stream of agony he had kept so dispassionately locked away in a place not even he had been able to retrieve.

"I do not speak my own opinion, Elrohir. I speak of her thoughts, your mother's thoughts - I do not interpret them, I speak of them as she felt them, no more, no less," he paused for a moment, a wince of pain flitting over his face.

Elrohir searched Legolas' face, his eyes stopping for a moment on the cut over his cheek where he must have caught him with his ring. It was all it took for Elrohir's face to crack and the ire was gone, replace now with utter grief.

"Why," he gasped, "why do you'll me this if you surely knew the despair it would bring?" he asked pleadingly.

"Because… because there is more, Elrohir," he said with a watery smile of his own, sensing when Elrond and Elladan joined them upon the floor.

"More?" he asked, his voice wavering…

"More," answered Legolas in joy now. "Just as I felt her ordeal, the physical and the mental scars that would not close, her broken heart for leaving you behind, for not being able to make you understand her motives," he said, his own tears flowing freely now, "so too, did I feel her joy, her triumph, her heeled scars and her overwhelming love for you. I saw her beauteous face shining in bliss, bare feet atop white shores, shining blue eyes resting peacefully upon the Eastern horizon…" he whispered now, watching, willing Elrohir to understand.

Someone beside him gasped but Elrohir simply stared back at him wide-eyed.

No words were forthcoming and Legolas knew it was time to leave, time to let Elrond and his family assimilate his words in privacy, for he had infringed upon it enough already, and so he slowly rose, and with a final glance at all three elves who paid him no heed at all, he bowed, and left.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSSTSTS

In the silence of his own rooms now, he lit a sole candle and sat upon his bed. Removing his boots he lay on his side, propping his head up with one palm, and with his other hand he reached for the well-read parchment that contained his father's words.

'… _where to begin…'_

Indeed, where to begin, mused Legolas.

'… _cannot discuss it here, upon this lifeless parchment…'_

Cannot, or will not, asked Legolas somewhat dispassionately.

'… _come to me, when your training is complete…'_

At least he had not been summoned immediately, had been left to fulfil this one desire.

'… _we must speak urgently of many things …'_

What to say, no doubt, when I am asked of my father. He will issue instructions about what I should not do, the privileges I must not presume to inherit - as if I _wanted_ any.

' … _I am announcing your existence to The Greenwood …'_

Legolas' stomach churned at the thought, his heart beating too fast at the prospect of such unwanted attention.

'… _the things I have heard from Captain Tirion make me proud …'_

His resentful inner dialogue stopped there, just as it had the first times he had read the letter.

'… _although we do not know each other, I hope that one day, we will…'_

He remembered Handir's words then, telling him his father would not reject him and Legolas had been skeptical, the years of hardship overriding his logical mind as it always did and yet now, something fundamental had changed. Everything that had happened to him had in some way changed his perspective of things, had shown him the important things, and the superficial things so that he may strive to eliminate them.

' _Return in peace and with the knowledge that you will be well received, and duly respected.'_

Well received, duly respected…Legolas sighed heavily before turning and lying flat on his back, eyes staring up at the ceiling.

"Father." It was not said in disdain, there was no anger, no sadness, no disappointment and no sarcasm - for the first time the only emotion in that one single word - was longing.


	39. Thranduilion

Author's notes:

There are many loose ends to tie, so here is chapter thirty nine to the rescue. Remember too, that Legolas is unaware of the fact that his mother was killed. He thinks she faded.

Please also note that there is a slight time lapse between events in The Greenwood and Imladris.

Earthdragon: yes, being protector of the forests has a lot of bearing on canon; the Greenwood, Fangorn, Ithilien, and even Minas Tirith… and regarding Legolas' hair - read on and see what you think. Thanks for the lovely review :)

Rita Orca: wonderful, I am delighted, as always, to receive such wonderful comments from you. What are you studying? Good luck with those exams :)

Guests: thank you so much, as always.

Chapter thirty-nine: Thranduilion

Four days had passed since that strange day when he had walked away from one life, and entered another, amidst strange dreams, sensations and revelations. Everything had changed and yet nothing at all, save for himself and the physical changes that would forever mark that moment in his life.

He had spoken to The Company, had explained everything that he could, and they had pledged their service - to _him_ \- as if he were a commander. But he wasn't.

So too, had he spoken with Elrond and his family, of the revelations the sentinel had relayed to him, with the unexpected result of confronting Elrohir with his trauma, the one that had hindered him for centuries. Legolas did not know if Elrond's son would thank him for that, indeed he had taken a slap across the face for his efforts.

A calloused hand slowly rose and touched his smarting cheek. He just hoped it didn't look too bad, for he had no wish to be explaining its origin to anyone today; there was too much to do.

With a heavy sigh, he turned to one side, facing now the slowly dawning day as he enumerated his duties. Breakfast with Glorfindel and therefore, with Elrond and his family, command training with The Company and the Noldor, twin blades with Glorfindel, and then, when day turned to evening and the evening meal was over, he would write the letters that would be taken to The Greenwood together with Elrond's official missives. There was no obligation of course, but therein lay Legolas' predicament; who to write to, what to say, where to begin!

He felt like laughing, but it was a bitter laugh, one born of utter frustration and a sense of magnitude that would not leave him. Amareth, Tirion, Thavron, his father…

He turned to the small table beside his bed, his eyes landing heavily on the scroll that lay there. He reached for it and read the last line once more.

'… _although we do not know each other, I hope that one day, we will…'_

He breathed heavily once more. There was no denying it. The arrow was in his quiver now, and protocol screamed that he should answer. On the bright side, he had the whole day before him, and for the first time in four days, life did not seem so bad. Aye there was a distant weight in his mind about his eventual return home and everything that entailed, but it still seemed so far away, and there was so much still to achieve here.

Resolved to enjoy the rest of his time in the Valley, he rose, dressed, and tidied his hair as best he could. Cut it? came Elladan's tentative suggestion from the day before but nay - how could he? In Silvan culture, hair was an extremely important part of an elf. To cut it was near sacrilege, akin to scarring oneself purposefully. He shivered at the thought and resolved to get a handle on controlling the unruly mass.

As he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he realised that his cheekbone was going to cause him some strife though, for Elrohir's ring had cut it, leaving a small red line sitting over a purple bruise. His mind began to fumble for an explanation, but The Company would not be easy to convince, especially Idhrenohtar.

Straightening his green tunic, he left his room, bound for the dining halls, only to come face to face with a startled Elladan.

"Aiye Legolas!"

Legolas simply smiled at the Noldo's expression, before cocking his head to one side.

"I came to accompany you to breakfast, warn you of Elrohir's strange mood and to see if his impetuosity left a visible mark; I see that it did," he sighed in exasperation.

"I have been searching for a believable excuse for the last few minutes, but my imagination is playing me foul," scowled the Silvan.

"Legolas," said Elladan as they walked, "I just wanted to thank you, for last night. It brought closure to me and my father - his joy is equal to Elrohir's turmoil this morning. You will find the high table a study in Elven psychology."

"The High Table?"

"Aye, if you will accompany us?"

Legolas held Elladan's frank gaze before nodding. It was a saving grace in one way, at least he would not have to face The Company and their over-protectiveness.

And so, as they came to the halls and the din abruptly ceased, as it had done for the past few days now, Legolas calmly walked on, ignoring the curious stares and whispered comments that today, were even more obvious than they had been.

"Legolas," greeted Elrond warmly, rising to his feet and gesturing to a seat beside Glorfindel, his eyes only briefly straying to the bruise on his cheek. Glorfindel, however, was staring at it with slanted eyes and Elrohir, Elrohir simply looked to the side while Mithrandir's eyes twinkled with a hidden wisdom Legolas could only guess at, for he and the wizard had not gotten off to a promising start.

It was Handir, however, who made the first, inevitable comment no sooner Legolas had bowed to Prince and Lord, and sat.

"What happened to your face, Legolas? A training accident?" he asked, and Legolas was not quite sure if he had picked up on a note of sarcasm in his brother's voice. A quick glance at the Sindar confirmed his suspicions and suddenly, the atmosphere at the table turned awkward.

"In a sense, my Prince," said Legolas as lightly as he could, unable to meet the prince's glare. He did not, however, miss Erestor's calming hand upon Handir's forearm.

"In what - _sense_?" asked the Prince slowly, dangerously as his blue eyes strayed to the Noldor before him.

"Prince Handir," said Elrond, his tone lighter and more carefree than Legolas remembered it, "last night, Legolas revealed to me and my family what is the cause for much joy. However, during the course of that conversation, emotions ran - high - "

"I hit him," interrupted Elrohir miserably. I gave in to my emotions and slapped him even before I could register what I did," he said boldly. "I am sorry, Legolas, truly, and I know the disdain I will garner from those close to you will be punishment enough for me."

Almost before he had finished, Idhrenohtar had appeared behind Legolas, his body rigid, his face set in an eerily disturbing blankness that promised painful retribution. It was as if he had always been standing there, yet the still moving cloth of his underskirt gave him away.

Legolas rose to his feet and turned to the Wise Warrior. "Stand down, Idhreno," was all he said and the warrior nodded stiffly before turning back to his table, eyes lingering on Elrohir.

"Well, there you have it," said Elrond, clearing his throat and then reaching for the toast.

Legolas sat once more, aware of the stares he was receiving. "Elrohir," he said, his voice momentarily startling the miserable Noldo. "I forgive you, and I understand you - more than you know," he said, before turning to the food on the table, aware that Elrohir's eyes were upon him.

"So tell me, Legolas," asked Handir. "Do you have letters to send with the envoys tomorrow?"

Legolas froze for a moment, before answering his prince. "I do, my Prince. I will deliver them to you this evening if that is acceptable?" he asked.

Handir simply nodded, eyes glancing over his warrior brother while he was not looking, well aware, it seemed, of the implications of his question and yet unwilling to speak of it here, in public. And of course, Legolas knew that he knew; another chore for his otherwise full agenda for a day that had started on strange footing indeed.

TSTSSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

It was after command training that Elrohir sought Legolas out, incapable of drawing out his own misery any longer. What surprised Legolas though, was that he was in the company of Handir.

Puzzled, he sat upon a bench and turned expectantly to Elrohir, for the elf had already publicly apologised. What more was there to say? he wondered.

"Legolas," began Handir. "I have had a long and interesting conversation with Lord Elrohir. He has spoken to me of what happened in the gardens, of what you said last night," he said softly before adding, "paradoxical, is it not?" he said with a sad smile.

His meaning was all to clear to Legolas, for he spoke of their own family trauma, of Handir's mother and his own.

"Yes, there is a clear parallelism that cannot be denied," he said. "My mother, Lassiel," he added as if he had not at first thought to mention her, "she faded for love, allowed herself to disappear from the lives of those she loved, an act Lord Elrohir described yesterday, as cowardly."

Said bluntly it sounded antagonistic, but it had not been his intention, and Elrohir seemed to understand that.

"I was wrong, Legolas. I had never thought of my mother's predicament in the way you brought it to my mind yesterday, that by sailing she would preserve her life for me, against her own wishes so that I could see her again at the price of her own suffering."

"And where does that leave _my_ mother, Elrohir? Do you think her cowardly for allowing herself to fade? Do you think the Queen of The Greenwood a heroine then, for leaving for Aman?"

"Until yesterday I would have said yes, and yes. Their situation was the same, in a sense, with each of them taking an opposite decision. Yet now, today I cannot say. If I have learned something with all this, Legolas, it is to think, really think, from all the possible perspectives, to be sure of the truth before I judge. It will make me a better councillor for my father."

"Then I am glad. Truly, Elrohir."

"You are a good elf, Legolas, just as your brother is. He and I will become good friends," he predicted, his mood clearly lighter now that he had spoken plainly, "just as you have already become with Elladan."

Legolas smiled, but it faded a little as his eyes briefly caught those of his brother for now, the seed of doubt had been planted in his own mind. Had his mother faded for cowardice, because she could not face life without the king, in spite of the child she had given life to? a child that would need her and that would be denied the love of its mother?

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSSSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSST

He was exhausted and as evening turned to night, Legolas sat in the privacy of his rooms, a blank parchment before him, as blank as his mind. He had finished his letters for Amareth and Thavron, the words flowing freely as he spoke of his training, of his new friendships, of how he missed them and his aunt's pea soup. But now, when it was his father he would address, he simply could not decide where to begin, what to say, what tone to say it in.

He thought then, of his father's letter, the one he had read more times than he cared to admit. The king had been reassuring, if nothing else and it was, perhaps, all Legolas needed; to know he would be welcomed in The Greenwood …

 _My Lord king…_

 _It is, indeed, difficult to know where to start or what to say, and so I shall be sincere._

 _I thank you for your reassurances regarding my eventual return to The Greenwood. Admittedly this was a point of concern and I am glad it has been resolved._

 _I wish to thank you for the opportunity you have provided me with, for I am taking great advantage of my time here in Imladris. Commander General Glorfindel has seen fit to tutor me personally in the finer points of my military skills, and Lord Elrond as also been most gracious in his knowledge of lore and history._

 _I sincerely hope that I may put these skills to use in The Greenwood as has ever been my desire, my calling._

 _I assume I will be escorting Prince Handir on his return to our kingdom, three months hence. I will, of course, report to you immediately, for as you have said, there is much to discuss, many questions I would ask, and a new development I must speak with you about._

 _Until then, my king …_

There, it had been simple enough once he put his mind to it and so he re read the letter, and when he had finished he leaned back in his chair with a scowl. His own discourse sounded completely normal, if not a little distant for words uttered between father and son, but where was the pain? where was his righteous anger?

It had left him, he realised, it was no longer at the forefront of his mind, no longer that which mattered most. Now, it was simply the fact that he _had_ a father, one that did not reject him _now_ that had taken precedence over those negative emotions.

He felt lighter, better than he had for many years, and although he still did not understand it all, understand his mother, at least he had reached that pivotal moment in which he would not judge, not until he was in possession of the facts, for it was not only Elrohir who had learned his lesson.

He smiled, and nodded, a minor concession to himself and his achievement, for it was not a small one, indeed that weight had accompanied him all his life, he was so used to it that now, its absence left him floating on a cloud of well-being. I have two brothers, one sister, a father, and a mother with a name who resides in Mandos, and that I may see one day, in the distant future when all is done.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

"My Lords, please be seated," exclaimed Erestor, watching as one by one, the guests at this closed council took their places around a long, rectangular table in the famed library of Imladris.

The doors, always open were now firmly closed, two guards beyond to ensure none trespassed on their lord's council.

Elrond, decked finely in his dark burgundy robes, sported a head dress Legolas had not previously seen. It was a striking piece that also served to keep his hair away from his face. To one side sat Chief Councillor Erestor and to the other, sat Lords Elrohir and Elladan. Further down were Prince Handir and finally, seated next to Legolas himself, was Commander Glorfindel.

All of them wore braids and jewels that denominated their status, their lordship, some in the forms of head dresses, while others wore rings or even necklaces. Only Legolas sat in his warrior uniform, nothing but leather ties to bind his hair away from his face, and the braids at his temples that marked him as a master archer.

With a bow to them all, Legolas sat, sparing a soft smile for Elrohir, whose own answering smile was wider.

"Now that we are all present, may the council begin. Lord Elrond?" prompted Erestor before sitting.

Elrond stood in a whoosh of fine cloth, his braids dancing around his temples.

"This council will be the second and final part of our talks of some weeks past," he began. "And now that we have word from the Greenwood, it is time for decisions to be made," he said, his eyes moving from Handir to Legolas, and then ultimately, to Mithrandir.

"My first duty, is to make a literal reading of King Thranduil's band, which will be read during the first Greenwood Summit currently taking place in your homeland, Prince Handir. It has much bearing on our talk," he said as he reached for the scroll and opened it.

"By Royal Decree, the elf known as Legolas Amarethion will now be named Legolas Thranduilion. As such, he must be addressed with honours and titles as befitting a son of the House of Oropher - from this day forward, _Lord_ Legolas Thranduilion."

There was stunned silence around the table, and Elrond looked at them all before resting his eyes on Legolas, who stared back at him numbly.

"Needless to say, we do not know what impact this will have on The Greenwood, as the summit is ongoing. However, it is to be assumed that not all will agree with the king's decision," he said, sitting and waiting for the debate to start.

It was Handir who stood to speak first.

"I do not think proclaiming Legolas a lord will be any surprise, once he is recognised as a son of the king. It is a necessary act of protocol; dissent will arise if and when he is given some official function, for with that task comes power. Lord Bandorion will not take kindly to having the balance upset; he will react and try his best to move his pieces, to garner the sympathy of those already against my father, and those that are undecided."

"I will travel to The Greenwood when you return, Prince," said Mithrandir. "I feel it is paramount I reestablish talks with your father, get a feel for the political situation. It has been too long since I traversed those lands."

"You would be welcome to travel back with us in a few months time, if you so wish, Mithrandir," said Handir with a nod, to which the wizard said nothing.

Legolas though, saw and heard nothing of what was being said, for his mind was reeling. Lord… Lord Legolas. It sounded stupid to his ears for he had not earned that title, had done nothing to merit being regaled with such honour. He had always wanted to earn his achievements, had always resented those that used their privileges to gain notoriety.

"But what of the Crown Prince, my Lord? What of his stance in this, for you hinted that he was, in some way, sympathetic to Lord Bandorion's faction," said Erestor, a hand stroking his chin.

"My father has used the term ' _minimally hostile_ ' with regards to Rinion's attitude towards Legolas. I believe the king has secured an official stance from Prince Rinion," he said, before frowning and adding, "it is difficult to ascertain whether my brother's words of admiration for our uncle were said sincerely, or with the sole purpose of irking our father," he trailed off, as if it had only just occurred to him.

"We must garner the truth," said Mithrandir. "Between Handir and myself, we should be able to render a true enough map of the Greenwood's politics.

"Mithrandir," said Handir, standing once more, "why are you so concerned with the internal workings of The Greenwood?" he asked, his eyes sharpening on the wizard.

"Why would I not be? Anything that happens in the Greenwood concerns us all," said the istar lightly.

"I will not condone yours or anyone else's intervention in our politics, unless my king is explicitly in agreement that they do so. You give opinion where you have no public voice to do so."

There was an edge to Handir's voice that could not be denied and Legolas straightened in his chair, suddenly aware of the awkward atmosphere that had overtaken their council.

"A wizard always meddles in the affairs of elves, child," said Mithrandir kindly, but it was not, perhaps, the wisest approach, as Handir's reaction proved.

"Mithrandir," he said slowly, his eyes glinting, "this is hardly the moment for flippant comment. I understand that Lord Elrond needs a measure of knowledge in order to agree on an official stance regarding Legolas, after all, he has been in the Valley for some months now and needs to communicate with my king on this subject. That does not mean you or anyone else, may extrapolate and 'meddle' as you so readily admit, in the affairs of my father's realm.

Legolas was impressed. He had not seen this side of his brother's character. He was bold, that much was clear. He was no meek, bookish councillor; he was a strong, intellectual diplomat and he suddenly felt proud of him.

"Prince Handir," said Mithrandir, suddenly standing straighter than he had before. "My task upon Arda is to unite the free people, to bring harmony where I can. It is a given task, one I may not refuse, just as Lord Legolas here cannot refuse his own. As such, my authority comes from a _higher_ source, my Prince."

Handir visibly stood down then, his voice and posture softening as he spoke once more. "And I am no one to gainsay that, Mithrandir. You speak so freely of intervening in the workings of my land and while it is your task to do so, from the inside it may be seen as interference," he explained.

"I am aware, my Prince. It would not be the first time I have been called an interfering old…"

"Mithrandir" said Elrond with a glint of amusement.

Handir sat then, and Elrond took the floor once more.

"It is decided then. Lord Legolas is to be counted amongst the noble elves and Imladris recognises him as such. Lord Legolas Thranduilion, welcome to Imladris," said Elrond with a bow. Legolas slowly stood, and bowed back, his face clearly showing how awkward he felt.

"You will get used to it Legolas," said Elladan with a smirk.

"I am not sure I want to," replied Legolas somewhat miserably.

"It is also my wish," added Elrond, "that Mithrandir travel with you, my Prince, so that he may talk with your father. Can you put this to your king?"

"Of course, my Lord."

"It would also be wise," he said thoughtfully, "to send my own envoy. It has been too long since I spoke to Thranduil…"

"Send me, my Lord," said Elladan as he stood. "I would represent Imladris if you would consent?"

Elrond frowned, his eyes glancing over Elrohir in silent question. Elrohir answered with a soft smile and a nod.

"If that is your wish, I will consent, Lord Elladan. We will speak extensively on the matter before you leave."

"Of course my Lord. Thank you," he said, as his eyes slipped to Legolas, who caught them and smiled for the first time that morning.

"Well, if there is no further business?" asked Elrond.

Silence met him and so, with brief words of thanks, Elrond brought the council to a close.

Legolas rose slowly, before approaching Handir.

"My Prince, I must have a private word," he said, to which Handir nodded, gesturing with his head that they leave, and as they did, Mithrandir shared a questioning glance with Elrond, to which the lord shook his head minutely.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Commander General Celegon of Greenwood's army, thundered into the stone courtyard before the mountainside entrance to Thranduil's fortress, with the elves that had accompanied Prince Handir to Imladris.

Unlike their outbound journey, the trip back had been swift and safe and so, as he dismounted he turned to Lieutenant Galadan to issue his commands.

"See to the troop and then join me. We must report to our king," he said before adding, almost as an afterthought, "Galadan. This report must be considered confidential- tell your warriors to hold their tongues; we do not know what the king knows, what our people know."

"Of course, my Lord. I will meet with you shortly," he said with a curt salute.

Celegon nodded at the healers that had congregated before the main gates, holding up his hand, for their services were not needed.

He was dusty and tired from the long journey, but his report couldn't wait and so he strode into the fortress, through the halls, passing captains and lieutenants that saluted him respectfully, and even some of the more approachable councillors he had a measure of friendship with, but he did not stop, for to stop would be to talk, and that he could not do.

On he marched, until he reached the private wing where the Royal Family resided. With a nod at the ceremonial guards, he passed them and then stood before the king's study. Steadying his breathing and straightening his crumpled uniform he raised his hand and knocked, praying that Galadan arrive soonest.

"Come," came the familiar voice. Yet there was something in it that had changed, something Celegon could not quite place.

"My King," he said, standing to attention and bowing.

"Commander, welcome back," said Thranduil, turning from the window to face his general.

Celegon startled, for now there could be no denying it. It was not only the king's voice that had changed. He shone brighter than he had done when Celegon had left, his hair was pristine, his clothes rich and magnificent and the smile - the smile upon Thranduil's face he had not see for centuries. His own mouth turned up at the corners, although he was at a loss as to what had brought this change about.

"I know what you would say, Celegon. Much has happened since you have been away, I will brief you as best I can of course but first, what news do you bring from Imladris?" he asked, his head cocking minutely to one side.

"I bring - extraordinary news, my Lord, yet I am uncertain as to what, exactly, you are referring to?" he asked, and then felt utterly stupid for he was Commander of the Greenwood militia, he was to report of course, but what did the king know? and more importantly, what did he not?

Thranduil, however, surprised him then with a mischievous smile.

"I ask first and foremost after my sons," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Prince Handir is well my King. We wrote to you regarding the battle of course," he said, hoping against hope that the king would not ask further questions about it before he had had time to ascertain whether or not he knew… damn Galadan, he cursed to himself.

"I asked, Celegon, after my sons, for as you must know, I have _two_ sons in Imladris…" he said, and there was that smile again. The king was toying with him and of a sudden he blew out a mighty breath, only to have Thranduil chuckle in his face.

"Forgive me, my King, I did not know what you knew…"

"I understand, Commander, and I have been unfair, I should have briefed you no sooner you arrived.

"Well now that is over with, perhaps I can give you my report?" said the commander, a little exasperated, before adding, "although perhaps it would be wise to wait for Lieutenant Galadan. He is seeing to the troop but will be here shortly."

Thranduil nodded, before gesturing to a comfortable chair. "Wine, Celegon? You must be tired, and your presence here, before you have rested, is telling of the news you bring," prompted the king as he poured the wine and handed one goblet to the Commander with an expectant glance.

But before Celegon could begin his account, the door opened, revealing not only Galadan, but Rinion and Aradan. Bowing, the three newcomers entered and stood around the king and Celegon. News travelled fast, as Celegon was well aware, and if the king knew of his third son, then it was likely the whole kingdom did too.

"My king, my written report to you no sooner we arrived in the Valley, was succinct; there are many details that I could not include, and others that have come to light after I sent it. I must now inform you of the - extraordinary - events that took place there. However, if I may, I must enquire as to the situation regarding Legolas. Do our people know of him?" asked Celegon carefully.

"They know of him, Celegon. Indeed we are currently immersed in talks and this is one of our primary debates, but please continue," he prompted, sipping on his wine as his keen grey eyes settled upon his Sindarin commander.

"On our final three days of journey to the valley, an unfortunate incident occurred, involving a trainee lieutenant by the name of Silor, and Legolas, a newly-trained Silvan warrior, or so I thought at the time.

Silor had all but dragged the warrior to my presence, claiming that he had disobeyed an order, and then thrown him to the ground. Naturally, I was immediately concerned; I will tolerate no insubordination, as well you know my king," he said, watching as the king nodded but remained silent. Rinion, however, was shaking his head in disapproval, and Celegon barely resisted the urge to reprimand the Prince for his premature judgement.

"However, the other Silvan warriors stepped forward to defend him, claiming that it was Silor who had moved to strike the Silvan warrior and that he had simply walked into another warrior who had blocked his passage. I must add, my King," he said with an upturned palm, "that said warrior is, indeed, particularly well built, shall we say. Legolas interrupted the discussion, claiming that an attack was imminent, something we already knew and were preparing for, but he insisted there would be two enemy groups. Unfortunately, by that time it was too late and the first wave of orcs hit us from the West.

Lieutenant Lainion departed with all haste with Prince Handir, making for Imladris while the rest of us did our best to form up and repel the attack. It was then we realised that Legolas had been right. The young Silvan warriors were attacked from the South, while Legolas fought with us on the western flank. We lost three and there were many wounded, indeed I myself was incapacitated and it was Lieutenant Galadan here, who took charge from there on in."

"You were taken by surprise," said Thranduil flatly.

"Yes, albeit it was Silor's distraction that sealed our fate. Yet the question remained, how did Legolas know what he knew…?" he asked, his sparkling blue eyes searching Thranduil's for an answer that was not forthcoming, and so he continued.

"Lieutenant Galadan and I spoke that very night, we spoke of our suspicions, for you see, my Lord, his appearance is nothing short of - striking - he is the very portrait of Oropher himself, except for his eyes, a green so vivid they seem almost unreal. And if this was not enough to draw conclusions, then to see him fight was the only confirmation we needed."

"What do you mean?" asked Rinion.

"I mean, my Prince, that I have never seen an elf wield short swords they way he does. It is fascinating to the point of distraction, my lords."

This, from Celegon, was a mighty thing. He was old, experienced, had fought at Dagorlad, had seen the best warriors over two ages.

"Go on," said Thranduil quietly, under the intense stare of Aradan.

"The weather was foul and a frigid air fell upon our ruined camp, and then snow came and covered everything. Galadan, perhaps you should continue from here?"

"Of course, Commander. Between myself, Legolas and Galdithion, another Silvan warrior, we gathered the wounded and did what we could to make them comfortable, but we had to move and so Legolas fashioned what I can only describe as 'contraptions', harnesses that sat between horses, mobile stretchers if you will. We toiled for many hours to put them together and fit them to the horses we still had. And even then there was no rest, for we had to hunt, cook and gather wood. Tend to the wounded, as our healer was killed in the first attack."

"It sounds harsh," said Aradan thoughtfully.

"It gets worse, my Lord," continued Galadan. "The three of us began the two day ride to Imladris. It was painfully slow for with only four horses and eight wounded, and the freezing cold, the exhaustion from battle. We were sitting targets for the enemy.

At night we organised ourselves once more and set up camp. Hunt, collect water, tend to the wounded, guard the camp. Tiredness was taking its toll and the frost numbed our feet and hands. The next day was nothing short of torture," said Galadan, pausing for a moment as he remembered those torturous hours. At one point, Legolas turned to me, claiming we were being followed, stalked by wargs, it seemed, stray orcs he said. Again how he knew I did not dare guess, but I would not doubt his words, not after the attacks, not after the detail he had been able to provide us with.

It was that evening that our company split…"

"What, what happened?" asked Aradan, completely immersed now in Galadan's tale.

"Legolas turned to me and told me what I already knew. If the wargs came across us, we would all be lost. Three warriors almost dead upon their feet cannot protect eight wounded. He said he could fall back and protect us from the rear, buy us time to get the wounded to Imladris.

"Suicide," said Rinion.

"It was the only way, my Prince. We all knew that and it was then, as I looked at him, the determination on his face - I _knew_ ," he whispered, his eyes turning to the king who stared back at him. 'Be safe _, my Prince_ ,' I said… He stared back at me for a moment and there was fear in his eyes, before it was lost and he rode away.

That night, Galdithion and I sat awake and in silence, for the howls of the wargs kept us as alert as we could be, and the forest, the forest whispered of magic and all things arcane - it was a moment I will never forget, my King."

Aradan blew out a noisy breath, "Elbereth Celegon."

"Naturally," continued Celegon, we arrived safely and Lord Elrond was most welcoming. Of course, Legolas was still out there and after the first twenty-four hours without his return, we began to worry."

The king's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, and Rinion had turned to the window.

"It was Lord Elladan who eventually found him. The strange thing is, that he would not speak of it, my King. He said only that the tree had hidden him so well he had almost missed him."

Silence ensued, until eventually, Thranduil spoke for the first time since Celegon had started his report.

"Was he alright?" he asked softly.

"He had battled with the wargs and had been wounded. Add to that the exhaustion he was already suffering. He slept straight for an entire day before he woke, a little battered but mostly well," finished Celegon.

"Then I should be proud of him," said the king thoughtfully, and then startled as Galadan stepped forward, his body straight and his chin high.

"My King. It was an honour to serve with your son," he said boldly. The entire troop feel the same, the Silvans and the Sindar. He is brave beyond words and yet humble," he emphasised with a sideways glance at Rinion. "He is skilled beyond his years and he holds the favour of the trees," he added with a glance at Celegon now, for there was a detail they had yet to tell the king.

The king did frown then, deep and questioning as he turned to the commander.

"What have you not told us, Celegon?" he asked.

Celegon watched the king and then Aradan and Rinion who turned now from the window to look at him.

"He is a _listener_?" asked Rinion incredulously.

"No, my Prince. He is much more than a listener. He has magic, _green_ magic…"


	40. Legend

Autor's notes: OK, another glitch on ffnet. I cannot see the reviews you sent for chapter 39. I read them in the email alerts but there is no sign of them on the reviews page, and hence I cannot answer. What a pain!

If they ever show up, I will get back to each and every one of you of course. So suffice it to say a very big thank you to everyone.

Ninde: gracias, me alegro un montón que estés todavía leyendo y disfrutando :)

Guest 1345: In Imladris, we already know the outcome of what is happening in the Greenwood. It will become clearer by the end of this chapter.

Chapter forty: legend

"It is a beautiful day," said Handir as he turned his face to the sun and smiled softly. Legolas felt his own lips twitch at his brother's joy, but the task at hand came back to him and the smile was gone.

"My Prince…" began Legolas, but was met with the palm of his brother's hand. "Handir, just Handir here, or would you rather I call you _Lord_?" he asked mischievously for he had not missed his brother's misery when Elrond had proclaimed it so.

"No, no," said Legolas a little to quickly, earning for himself a chuckle from Handir.

"You know," said the prince, "I have been asked to ' _instruct_ ' you on lordly protocol - father is a stickler for pomp and ceremony, Legolas," and then he chuckled again as his young brother's face crumpled even further.

"Worry not. I must simply take you to the tailors, to the jewel smith and instruct you on the proper use of titles - no more," he said with an evil grin which finally had Legolas smiling.

"Truly brother it is not that bad. Take it for what it is, a title and no more."

"I never wanted privilege, Handir. I always wanted to excel on the strength of my own skill."

"And you will - you already are - no one can deny that. Do not let the details get in the way of what is important to you, they are not an end in themselves. But come, tell me, what is it you wished to speak to me about?" he asked curiously.

"During my absence, while I was in the forest, Handir, I came to understand what it is I must do…"

Handir's face was drawn into a deep frown, his frustration clear. "Legolas, this - this magic - this, strange aura that enfolds you, I confess it unnerves me."

"I know, Handir, the Valar know it unnerves me too, but at least now I begin to understand; it is why I must speak with you now, in confidence, for my words are not for everyone to hear. You are a necessary collaborator, if you will. Our - destinies - are somehow intertwined, Handir. You yourself have admitted to wanting to restore The Greenwood to what it once was, a land of peace and justice where no one is above the next elf, where Sindar, Silvan and Avarin elves live in harmony. This is what drives you to study, to read, to seek Lord Erestor's guidance - tell me I have not misunderstood your motives?" he asked.

Handir watched his brother for a moment, before he answered, his voice strong and determined. "You are not wrong Legolas. That is exactly my calling, one I will not be swayed from. But now you have me thoroughly puzzled…"

"Bear with me, brother. This is not easy for me to put into words, and every time I try it seems so strange that I should be saying such things. You remember Mithrandir's words at the council?" he prompted, watching Handir's face. "He told you his authority came from a higher source…"

"Yes…" said Handir, his head cocking to one side.

"Mithrandir is charged by the Valar themselves, by Manwë…"

"Yes…" said Handir, more softly this time and his face paled a little.

"So too, am I charged, by a higher authority, Handir, with a task, a purpose that wholly fits with your own…"

Handir turned to his brother, his eyes wide. "You have been charged … by _who_?" he whispered, his breathing coming shorter now.

Legolas watched him, aware of the impact of his next words, aware he may not be believed, that he would be seen as arrogant, or even naive.

"By Yavanna…"

After a long silence, Handir managed to articulate a word. "What?"

" She charged me, Handir, with the protection of the forests and those that dwell within."

Handir gasped and then turned from his brother, as if he could not stand to look upon him and Legolas faltered for a moment, his hand reaching out to catch his brother's sleeve.

But just then, Handir turned back to him, his princely mask gone and in its place, was the expression of an elf that believes but does not understand.

"The _Valar_ \- have charged you with this? _Kementari_ chose you, for this purpose?" he asked softly, his eyes searching his brother desperately for any sign that he had, perhaps, misunderstood.

"Yes," was all Legolas said, as if he himself could still not believe it.

Handir exhaled noisily, steadying his breathing and then sitting somewhat unceremoniously upon a stone bench.

"This is - _hard_ \- to assimilate, Legolas. No wonder it cost you to tell me."

"I understand - if you do not believe me, Handir, I really do."

"No, it is not that. It is clear something happened in those woods that went beyond the norm, Legolas. Everyone can see that. Your hair, your light, even the way you express yourself. But to have it said so plainly it seems …"

"Absurd, yes - I know," anticipated the Silvan. "And yet you see now, how this ties in with your own path, Handir? I have a plan, a way I believe I can do this, but I must seek the permission of the king and herein lies my request."

"Speak it," said Handir.

"I must gain a measure of freedom, without detaching myself entirely from the Greenwood Militia. I must create a special unit, a group of ten warriors that will secure the forests and the villages, defend it over all else. We would be under the command of the king himself, but with the liberty to ride should the forest call us."

"You have no command, Legolas, and you are but seven hundred and forty-four years old. This will not sit well with the Commanders."

"I know and hence - I need your council, Handir. With some luck, Lord Glorfindel will write a favourable report to Commander Celegon, but even so, that would make me a lieutenant, and as such I would be obliged to ride under the command of a captain. I could not carry out my work under those circumstances."

"No, no you could not. The question is, everything is achievable, as son of the king, Legolas. But if I know you just a little I know that is not enough for you. You feel the need to show that you are the right elf for an honourable cause. It is as much a political issue as it is military," he mused.

"I suggest," he continued as he thought, "that you become the best warrior you possibly can, for this alone will bolster your claim. If we can somehow show that there is no finer warrior, it would qualify you to lead this initiative."

"Yes - yes I see that. Even so, I believe there will be some Sindarin opposition."

"Oh there will be a lot of that, Legolas. Make no mistake. Even if we achieve this thing, you will have Lord Bandorion and his sympathisers breathing down your neck at every turn, waiting for you to make a mistake, and when you do, they will pounce, they will try to discredit you at every turn."

"You make it sound so brutal…"

"It is, Legolas. Politics is a dangerous, cruel game. You must excel in your military skills and you must use everything within your reach to impress, to outwardly show what is already inside you. Be the warrior you already are, be the Lord you are destined to be, the leader our land needs in the forests. But make no mistake, Legolas; it is not enough to _be_ these things. You must _show_ them, publicly announce them…"

"I am loath to do so. It seems arrogant."

"I know. But it achieves the desired effect, Legolas. Do you trust me?" he asked carefully.

"I do trust you Handir," said Legolas with a smile, as if only now realising that indeed he did.

"Then heed me if we are to do this together. I will instruct you, dress you, council you and when the time comes, present you. Show our people that the claim you stake is a just one, that you are the one to do this thing."

Legolas stared back at his brother. He knew he was right but that did not make it any easier, for it all went against his Silvan upbringing. Handir surprised him then, as if he had read his mind.

"You are half Sindarin, Legolas. This gives you an extraordinary advantage. You can content the Sindar and the Silvan. Show them you are both, and that neither one is better than the other. Show them in your deeds, in your words, in the clothes you wear and the aid you lend. You are Silvan, you are Sindarin and you are Avarin - you are the _forest_ …," he smiled widely.

Legolas had listened to the impassioned words and he smiled, for it all suddenly clicked in his own mind. Everything his brother had said was true. He had to win the favour of the people, with every weapon he had at his disposal and he would do it, for the forest, the greater good for in light of his purpose, his own wishes were no longer important.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

"You are welcome, my Lord. Let us do this together then, brother to brother, Prince and Lord and our first objective, is to convince our Lord father of the merit in this plan."

Legolas nodded and then added with a frown, "what you said about ' _instructing_ ' me on lordship… what exactly…"

"Ah. Tomorrow, tomorrow you lend to me and Lord Erestor. A trip to the tailors and the jewellers is in order…" said Handir with a sly smirk, before throwing an arm around his young brother and pulling him close.

"I am glad to have found you, brother," said Handir, watching Legolas' face.

"As am I, smiled Legolas. "You have no idea how much it…" he broke off then, unable to continue in spite of the fact that he was still smiling. Handir's smile broadened but he said no more.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

"Lord Bandorion, you have the floor," stated the Greenwood's Chief Mediator.

"My Lords," began the ancient Sindarin elf, brother of Oropher himself. "I, and I am sure many of you, wish to express our displeasure at the King's official stance concerning the bastard child Legolas," he began, amidst gasps from the other politicians in the halls, for the lord's words had been harsh indeed, and many eyes were now turned to the king, who sat placidly upon his chair, his face completely devoid of emotion.

"It is not mete, we believe, to concede a lordship under these circumstances. To reward the result of infidelity, to encourage mixed blood is not the act we deem worthy of a Sindarin king," he said somewhat patronisingly and again, gasps and expressions of outrage rang through the vaulted halls.

"I move to revoke the royal band, and ban the elf Legolas from participating in the king's council, as would be his right as a Lord of the realm. Let him serve in our army for I have heard he is an acceptable warrior, but any inclusion in these hallowed halls will be deemed an insult to our departed queen, a reminder of King Thranduil's _indiscretion_ ," he sneered finally, his deep blue eyes boring into Thranduil's, challenging him, goading him.

Aradan's blood boiled, and he knew he was not alone. He was reminded then, of the king's extraordinary talent for holding his peace, for in spite of the insults Bandorion had so regally pronounced, Thranduil had not flinched, and a sinking sensation began to take hold of him. It was times like these when the king was at his most dangerous, when he was capable of the most daring acts.

Be that as it may, it was his own turn to speak and so Aradan rose and took the floor.

"I, Lord Aradan, Chief Councillor to my King Thranduil, am outraged at your words, Lord Bandorion, and while I will not discuss my Lord's personal affairs in these public halls, I will defend his honour with my _life_ ," he paused, his own heavy gaze meeting Bandorion's chilling glare.

There were words of encouragement and agreement around the hall, but they quickly died out as Aradan continued.

"Lord Legolas is a child of the forest, born to Lassiel of the Silvans," he said pointedly, glancing at the forest representatives, who nodded back at him in satisfaction. "You insult one you have never met, one you do not know the worth of, under the simple pretext of being a _bastard_. Tell me, Lord Bandorion, are there no _worthy_ bastards? Are all bastards evil and inept, deserving of the most deplorable insults? Are they not then, elves to be judged with the same measure as any other? Is it simply who they are born to that matters to you? Are you that - _prejudiced_ , my Lord?" he finished with a smile that was not friendly at all.

A mighty cheer went up amongst the Silvans, indeed many Sindar were nodding their heads in approval of Aradan's words. The king, however, remained impassive.

It was Draugole who next took the floor and everything was silent again.

"There are rules and laws that govern our lives. As elves we have legislated and passed them - they are there for a purpose and in this, Lord Aradan, you must concede. A child born outside the bonds of matrimony cannot be heir to a king, cannot be a prince of the realm for to allow it, what then, is the point of matrimony? Why would a king secure for himself and his realm, a queen that is both noble and honourable, if he is then free to impregnate the first elf that takes his fancy?" he said theatrically, and the gasps were back, some Silvans even rising to their feet in protest.

"I do not mean to offend, my Lords, only to illustrate my point," said the councillor calmly. "Laws exist for a reason. The Silvan child must not be given a lordship, for to do this would be to infringe upon those laws," he concluded and then sat with an approving nod from Bandorion.

"Lord Erthoron," called Aradan, conceding the floor to the Silvan from Broadtree.

"My Lords," he began in a voice that was both sad and frustrated. "This," he gestured to Bandorion, "is the reason the Silvan people are discontent," he paused as he gazed upon all the Silvan and Avarin lords that had travelled from the forests for the summit. "This, _discourse_ , this disdain, the sarcasm and the patronising words. The overt insult and the unveiled sneers. Had this child been _Sindarin_ ," he emphasised, 'bastard' would be 'illegitimiate', 'child' would be 'son', indeed had he been Sindarin, you may well have taken advantage of his existence and turn him to your own, racist ways if you thought there was some personal gain in it."

Bandorion was smirking but Aradan was not fooled. Oropher's brother was not as skilled as he believed himself to be and on the inside, there was no doubt that his anger was on the brink of boiling. But Erthoron had not finished.

"You speak against an elf that shares your blood, Lord Bandorion, you speak against your own king and you speak against the Silvan people. You call him 'Silvan' but he is half Sindarin. You say he is a passing warrior when we, the forest dwellers know he will be the greatest warrior of our time. You take every advantage to mock and to scorn and to disqualify and I will tell you what we think, my Lord. We think you are scared, _scared_ that with the appearance of this new Silvan lord, your dreams of Sindarin dominance will be dashed!" he shouted and the roar that followed his words was inflamed and angry, and Aradan closed his eyes. This was not going to plan for the Silvan people had been awoken, and Bandorion did nothing but to add timber to the already roaring fire.

The Sindarin Lord Falagar was next to speak.

"My Lords," he shouted over the din, "Let us please calm these harsh words we throw at one another. We should be discussing the state of the land and offering constructive suggestion as to how we can better manage our resources. This Sindar - Silvan confrontation is as destructive as it is unnecessary. There is no reason for it and I bid you all stop it. We all do that which is best suited to our skills, to our very nature. The Silvan people care for the forest, harvest her bounty, nurture Yavanna's creation. You care for the trees and replant when they are lost and that is a noble thing. We Sindar command our militia because that is in our blood, our history. We legislate the land for we have held great kingdoms and have the experience to do so efficiently. This too, is noble. Can we not simply accept this reality and move forward?" he asked sincerely.

The Silvan Lord Lorthil stood then and moved to the centre of the circle.

"Thank you, Lord Falagar, for your sincere words. However, although I appreciate your good will, you are nevertheless wrong in your assumptions.

Think you there was no strife under the trees before the Sindar came from abroad? Think you we lived in chaos? incapable of ruling ourselves? We have spent millennia here, under the trees and then more together with the Sindar. Even if you _were_ right my lord, even if you Sindar do come from a war faring culture, do you not think that millennia is enough to learn? Do you not think our brave warriors capable, in all that time, of commanding a patrol as well as any Sinda?

Tell me then, why there are ten Sindarin captains to every one Silvan captain, when sixty percent of our troops are Silvan, my Lord? Tell me, why there are even less Avarin captains. Tell me why our music does not play in your halls, at your feasts. Tell me why Silvan councillors do not advise the king? Tell me why our books of lore are not read in your schools, or why our villages are raided systematically, without the necessary number of troops to protect us. Are you ashamed, my Lords, to rule over the Silvan people?" he asked finally, softly, sadly and this time there were no cheers, only bowed heads.

"Lord Barathon," conceded Aradan after a long pause, his own voice soft and melancholy.

"Lord Lorthil," began Bandorion's son. "You exaggerate of course and I understand you do this to rally your people. I too, could rally my own and where would that get us, tell me? Our commanders are just and if they choose a Sindarin captain over a Silvan one, then that is his professional criteria, it is not racism, it is common sense."

There were murmurs here, even between the Sindarin lords who watched Barathon with concern.

"You claim for yourselves a Silvan lord that will speak for you, return to you what you consider was once lost but that is not the answer. The answer lies in understanding the truth. We all excel in certain things, as Lord Falagar has already suggested. We Sindar are good warriors and commanders, and you Silvan are excellent troops and archers. The land finds its own balance, naturally, without the intervention of anyone. Let things lie, my friends, let us take the burden of rule so that you may enjoy your forests and your lore. It is as it should be."

Aradan studied the Silvans carefully and there could be no mistake in what he saw. Their initial euphoria had turned to sadness, and after that had come Bandorion and his son, Barathon. They had turned that sadness into quiet, smouldering outrage, deep hurt that would surely not go unanswered.

A chestnut haired elf stood then, and Aradan did not recognise him.

"I would ask permission to speak, my Lords. I am Saroden, Chief Forester of Silver Vale."

Aradan rose briefly and nodded.

"My Lords," he said, and then cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. He was nervous for he was not a public speaker; he was a humble Silvan elf of the deep forest.

"I have a story to tell," he said, his voice tentative and soft, his face unsure but his heart steadfast and determined.

"It is the story of a Silvan elf. A warrior barely out of novice training. He travelled on his first mission to the small village of Silver Vale where he and his patrol stayed for three days. He worked hard to fulfil his captain's orders. Humble and servile, he toiled along with the rest of us. He was witty and kind, unassuming and quick to help - and the source of much giggling from our younger maidens," he smiled as he remembered, garnering a few soft chuckles from the crowd that had now settled in to listen to Saroden's story.

"All the villagers watched him with a soft smile, for he was the perfect Silvan child; simple and servile, joyous yet witty.

Yet one day, a cry went up from our brothers in the distant fields. 'Fire!' they cried, 'Fire in the woods!'. The patrol organised itself, leaving two behind at the pumps, for should the wind change, the flames would engulf our village.

And so they worked, one Sinda and one Silvan. They worked and they worked until their hands shook but still, our people came for water. It was then, though, that the Silvan warrior tensed and then turned to his brother in arms.

'I must go,' he said, and so, securing a villager to take his place at the pump, he ran into the woods. He ran away from the rest of his patrol that fought the flames to the East, for he ran to the West, a clarity in his mind that none could understood. He passed our farmers, showing them the way back through the thick, choking smoke but he did not turn back. He pressed on until finally, he came to a small glade that was being consumed by the flames.

At the base of a mighty beech, our foresters shouted and cried and agonised over what to do, for you see," he paused for a moment, watching his now avid audience, "there were two children high in the boughs of the tree…

The Silvans gasped, not because they did not know the story for they did, indeed they had added to it themselves. It was the emotion it provoked in them and it was contagious, for now, the Sindar sat on the edge of their chairs, and even the king was leaning forwards.

"They told him it was impossible, that the bough upon which the little ones sat would not take the added weight of another elf, that instead of two deaths there would be three. The children were forfeit but their carers could not grasp the concept, could not accept the inevitability of their death - for inevitable it was," he emphasised, Saroden now so engrossed in the story he did not see the expectation his story had built.

"But the Silvan warrior did not believe it, and he did not doubt. He climbed the smouldering trunk until he was high above the ground and then he was lost to their sight. The truth is, that after minutes of tentative hope, and then more minutes of crushing grief, the villagers left, forced by the burning flames and the choking smoke that now turned upon them in fury, pushing them away lest they lose their own lives."

There were more gasps now, not only Silvan elves but Sindarin too, as if they had forgotten where they sat and had suddenly been transported into the forests, into the burning glade.

"It was as they had feared. The two children had been lost and with them, the beautiful Silvan warrior that was himself, little more than a child. We sat and we lamented, we sung to the guardians of the world and we shed tears, yet no one more than I, and my wife for you see, those children were my sons. My beautiful, innocent children had been lost to the flames and I was inconsolable."

Heads were now bowed in grief as the sad story unfolded, but Saroden had not finished.

"It was the following day when the remaining warriors sat in quiet contemplation before the tree line, that a lone figure appeared. From the smoke and the ashes, a Silvan elf stood, one child upon his back and the other hugged before him. He was unrecognisable then, smudged almost black with the ashes, just as the children were. His eyes streamed and his throat was burned but he was alive and my children with him!"

He paused and took a deep breath, a breath that echoed around the utterly silent hall.

"He was taken to the healers and my children hugged and kissed, and then whisked away in worry but also in such joy I cannot explain… This is the story of a Silvan elf; a warrior barely out of novice training. An elf more beautiful I have never seen, for his hair was a silver blond river and his eyes the color of spring river moss. This is the story of The Silvan, the one we have always known resided amongst us, have always known would one day come into the light.

That day has come, for this is the story of Legolas Thranduilion, son of Lassiel, Lord of Greenwood the Great…"

His final words were slow and emphasised and so very significant.

"…you will it or not…" said Saroden finally, a last, lingering stare at Bandorion.

Aradan's eyes were wide and his breathing too quick. This humble Silvan forester had rallied his people more than any of them had managed to do, with his simple story and yet he had also, it seemed, reached the hearts of the Sindar, for they smiled softly now, for the moment had been memorable and so utterly illustrative of what they wanted, nay demanded. Suddenly it did not seem so bad, did not seem to be a concession at all.

Aradan however, was worried. For in that final sentence was a veiled warning - and his eyes caught those of Thranduil who sat pensively, tucking away the story of the Silvan for future use, he knew, for what must it be like, to have one's son spoken of thusly?

Rinion too, was strangely quiet, but there was no mistaking the worry in his eyes, and Aradan could not blame him.

It was Lord Draugole who stood abruptly, his black robes swirling around his legs.

"… you will it or not?" he sneered. "Are you threatening your king, _Forester_?"

Saroden stood back when Erthoron stood once more, his face twisted in righteous anger. " _You_!" he thundered, "you make an insult out of our most noble occupation? You laugh because he is a forester?" he shouted. "Let me explain our position, Draugole, in such a way that even you will understand. "We, the Silvan people, demand that Legolas be invested Lord, and should you refuse," he pointed with his finger at the Sindarin councillors, "should you continue to hold your silence in spite of your obvious dissent with this elf, then you may as well join him in his absurd claims, you would be just as responsible as he is for the result of your disdain!" he proclaimed.

"What result, Erthoron?" said Draugole dismissively, sitting imperiously upon his padded chair.

"If you refuse. I and my people will turn our backs on you. If you refuse this one thing, we will no more bow to the Sindarin lords of Greenwood the Great, to _none_ of them," he said, with a meaningful glance at the king.

There were gasps as understanding finally took hold, and then silence, and amidst that silence, the king stood and strode towards his Sindarin councillors, sparing a cutting, icy glare at Bandorion, Draugole and Barathon.

"In one thing at least, Lord Erthoron is right. We have been silent for too long. We have sat by for too long and allowed injustice to go unanswered and this is the result of our folly - my folly.

I, for one, vote that Legolas be invested Lord and I urge you to see the wisdom in that," he said, holding each and every councillor's eyes as he walked past them.

This meeting is adjourned until tomorrow morning, when we will take a vote. I urge our Silvan compatriots to enjoy our hospitality at the feast this evening. I would be honoured by your presence, my Lords," he said, surprised though he was when a Sinda councillor stood and in a clear voice, spoke.

"I too, would be honoured by the presence of our forest kin!" he said bravely, courageously, to which Erthoron bowed in satisfaction and Thranduil smiled a genuine smile of pride. Only then, did another Sinda rise, and then another and when they had finished, Erthoron stood once more.

"It brings joy to my heart that not all the Sindar have been turned against us. We will attend your call, my King, and tomorrow, tomorrow we shall speak again."


	41. Warrior

Well, the reviews glitch continues, so please see answers below.

Lea1985: Thank you!

Guest 1345: I'm glad. Thanks!

Leggyrespect: That's a great help. I will certainly look at that and perhaps edit a few chapters once the story is complete so thanks for pointing that out. As to everything else, looks like your wishes will be fulfilled-yes to everything ! Thanks so much for the insightful review.

Naledi: Handir a PR? well - yes! Glad you liked the summit scene, there will be a lot more on that. Thanks, as always, for never failing to review.

Horsegirl: For some reason, your review disappeared from my inbox but I do remember you reviewing. So thank you, as always, even though I can't remember what you said - I am sure it was very nice though, LOL

Earthdragon: yes, a certain seamstress will be taking a great interest in Legolas' clothing - LOL. He will not be recognisable after she is finished with him!

Chapter forty-one: Warrior

Aradan, Rinion and Thranduil sat in pensive silence, a glass of wine in their hands and a far away look in their eyes.

The vote had been favourable to Thranduil's proposal, and Legolas had been proclaimed a lord, but the results of the council meetings had been all too eloquent. The Silvans were rebelling and the Sindar were slow to speak out against Bandorion, not because they sympathised with his beliefs, but for the sake of harmony. And yet that desire had backfired, for the result had been exactly the opposite of what they had wanted to achieve with their silence, for it had been misconstrued as complicity. With their inactivity they had forced the Silvans into turning on them. It had gone too long unchecked and Bandorion had grown strong and bold, just as the Silvan and Avarin had grown tired and frustrated.

The question now, was how to undo the damage that had been done? Was it even possible, wondered Thranduil? Had he pushed the nation too far with his idleness? With his self-pity?

"The situation is volatile at best," murmured the king as he sipped absently on his wine, refusing to fall into a spiral of self-loathing. He was wise enough to know that he could not have avoided his long years of hibernation.

"Yes. For now they are appeased, albeit Bandorion is shaking the Sindarin warstick. We must look to both fronts now, my King, the purists and the silvans for I do not doubt that Erthoron is capable of much more than may be obvious to us at this point," warned Aradan.

"Bandorion should not be underestimated," added Rinion as he turned from the window to face them. "He has some interesting points he skilfully embellishes with his rhetoric - it appeals to many of the Sindar at court," he said, avoiding his father's gaze.

"Agreed," said Aradan as he turned to the crown prince. "He tempts them with talk of the olden days of glory; of great battles and famed warriors, of the pride of the Sindar. There are many that would see those days return."

" _I_ would see those days return, in some ways," said the king, "but not at the expense of the Silvan people. They are just as much a part of us, and - they have a prior claim. Indeed I believe it is the same for them; Erthoron himself has said as much. They feel their culture is no longer a part of The Greenwood, that it is being pushed aside, belittled in favour of all things Sindarin."

"Yes, there is that," said Aradan before turning. "We must find a balance, it seems, between restoring our own heritage, and that of the Silvan people. Strike a perfect equilibrium, one that speaks of two great people, people who are different but that are enriched by each other, united in their respect the one for the other, return to the people their sense of belonging, their sense of king and nation."

"Well said," murmured the king.

"In my experience, the Silvan warriors, while good archers and disciplined troops, lack the necessary leadership skills to climb the ranks as well as our Sindarin warriors," said Rinion sincerely and Thranduil saw it for what it was.

"Your experience has been reaped in times of veiled Sindarin dominance. You have not lived in the older days, when the Silvan people were still regarded as equals, when they were ruled by Warlords. It is natural for you to think this way for these ideas have been deeply inculcated in you since childhood. Have you served with trainee Silvan lieutenants or captains?" asked the king.

"No," admitted Rinion, but I have always believed that was because they did not meet the necessary requirements."

"That seems unlikely, my prince," answered Aradan. Do you truly believe such differences can be explained by the quality of one's blood?"

"I do not rule out that possibility, Councillor."

"Well I do, my King, there is no reason to believe it is an inborn thing, no reason at all. It is all about opportunity, being given the chance to excel and that is where things break down.

"The fact remains," said the king, "that a small victory has been won, but it will be short-lived if Bandorion continues to rally the elder Sindar. He must be watched closely," he concluded thoughtfully. "Rinion, you are the best person for this job. He lives with the hope that you will join his cause; use this to find out what he plans," he said, his piercing grey eyes staring commandingly at his son.

But Rinion was nothing if not wilful, and his own stare was just as challenging. "I will not spy on my uncle, father, and be warned, I do not disagree with everything he says, albeit he is far too forthright and aggressive in his ways. I will watch and learn what I can, but I will not stand against him."

"Whatever he does?" asked Thranduil pointedly.

"I did not say that. If he manoeuvres in such a way that he puts our people at risk, then my opinion will change," he said, holding his fathers gaze somewhat mutinously.

"I cannot ask for more than that," conceded the king. "You are your own elf, so long as you are loyal to your king I will respect your wishes, of course."

There was a hint of surprise on Rinion's face, and he turned quizzically to his father. "You think I would turn against you?" he asked softly. There was no fire in his voice, only deep concern, utter shock that his father could even think such a thing.

"Is that so hard to understand, Rinion? You have been - _vociferous_ \- in your criticism towards me for many years," said the king levelly, knowing full well he was treading on rocky ground.

Rinion simply stood still for a moment longer, before leaving the room in silence, and when the king turned back to Aradan, the councillor looked back at his friend in worry and concern.

"He is loyal, Thranduil, yet so too, is he tempted by the picture Bandorion paints. You must paint a better one…"

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Erthoron and Lorthil sat together with Amareth, who had finally ventured out of her suite of rooms. It was only when Legolas had been officially recognised that she had dared to do so, for the stares and the whispered comments had been unbearable. Yet now, the stares had turned from hateful to curious, and she could, at least, live with that.

"When do we return?" she asked softly. She seemed sad, thought Erthoron as he watched her. There was an air of submissive melancholy about her that he did not like.

"In two days, Amareth. Are you not happy?" asked the village leader encouragingly.

"Happy? No, not really, no. All this - business of lordships and princes, of politics - he will not want it, Erthoron, he will want none of it; it is not in his nature."

"You would be surprised what elves are capable of, given the right motivation, Amareth. He may surprise you and take up the challenge if he knows this will be beneficial to the Silvan people- _his_ people," said Lorthil enthusiastically.

"He is a _warrior_ , Lorthil, as much a warrior as any elf can possibly be. It is all he ever wanted, and everything else he may choose to accept will be for the good of _others,_ not for his own. Do you not see that?"

Lorthil's happy demeanour changed and his face straightened. "Perhaps, yet that does not mean he is doomed to a life of suffering, Amareth, for what is the life of a warrior without that? without self-sacrifice?"

Amareth held his gaze for a moment, before nodding, conceding that point at least for Lorthil was right. She just needed to speak to him, to talk to him, to explain - all the things she had never been able to mention, all the things she had kept from him, all the secrets.

"How long until he returns from Imladris?" asked Erthoron in curiosity.

"Two months, I think," replied Amareth, "why?"

"I believe we should be here, when he returns," began the Silvan spokesperson.

"Who?" asked Lorthil.

"Us, the Silvans, the Avari, the _forest_. All of us should be here to welcome our lord, to finally embrace him openly, without hiding, no more secrets," said the old Silvan, a new spark of determination and resolve in his wise blue eyes.

"You assume he will accept the role you have set before him," said Amareth a little sternly.

"Amareth, do you truly believe he has a choice? Even if he refuses, the Silvans will not let him go. It means too much to them. He is what he is, you cannot change that, and neither can he…"

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Days turned into weeks and Legolas and The Company trained harder than they ever had. Idhrenohtar was almost ready to take the grade as Master Archer, and Ram en Ondo was progressing well with the sword. Legolas for his part, spent hours training with the short swords and his new weapons, the double-bladed spears. In secret he would learn the Qalma Liltie with Glorfindel and in his free time, he met with Elladan and The Company, and with Handir, with whom he was developing an incipient yet promising relationship.

Slowly, Legolas was beginning to accept the protocol that came with Lordship, and even the fine clothes that both Handir and Elrond insisted he wore when not upon the training fields, much to the light-hearted mockery of The Company.

The dressmaker who had designed his clothes had taken a shine to Legolas, and as a Sinda herself, had offered her advice on how to dress his hair. She showed him drawings of the Sindarin warriors of Doriath and the braids they wore. They were intricate and beautiful and Legolas had decided that they were as much a part of himself as the Silvan braids that Lainion would always weave. He would do them all, he had resolved. He would be neither Silvan nor Sinda but a mixture of them both, for that was the sum of his blood.

Indeed the whole thing had turned into a heated yet constructive debate between Legolas, the seamstress and Handir. Strange though it seemed at the time, there were political decisions to be made for the brothers had already discussed the necessity of showing what Legolas stood for, showing the multi-cultural nature of his blood.

The dressmaker had sketched dozens of designs as she listened to their conversations and slowly, a pattern began to emerge. The Silvan warriors of old favoured skirts with no breeches, and thick, reinforced leather jerkins that left one arm uncovered, usually the right. For more solemn ocasions, the Sindar would wear knee-length tunics, while the Sindar favoured longer robes that reached to the calves or even the ankles.

Soon enough, she had produced a final design for both an every day outfit, and a ceremonial one, and Handir stared at it for long moments, before looking briefly at the elder Sindarin woman, and then to Legolas.

"I have never seen the likes…" he murmured, handing the designs to his brother, who took them gently. His eyebrows rose in surprise and made to say something, but he stopped before the words came.

The dressmaker chuckled kindly. "If you give me leave to make these, my lords, I guarantee you will look splendid. We must simply choose our colours and be bold," she said, her eyes sparkling in anticipation of what they would say.

"I say we do this," said Handir. "It is daring, I must say, but if anyone can wear this, it is you, Legolas."

"I - but, here," he shook an index finger at the drawing, "I am showing half my chest here…" he stuttered awkwardly, his face a little too red.

The dressmaker laughed heartily now. "And that is a good thing, my Lord. You have the body for it, if you will forgive me for saying so, and you have a growing collection of warrior bracelets to show off. But this is much more than that, my Lords. What you have said here, about bringing together your people, I listened carefully to your words, I understand them and I hope, with all my heart, that you succeed in this thing. There are many details I would work into the fabrics and the buttons, the sashes and hems, for this is the most fascinating project I have ever undertaken my Lords. You see, in my designs, you would be stating your intentions, showing your people what you want, what you strive for, who you are," she finished passionately, and Handir stared back at her for a moment before speaking.

"You should have been a Councillor, my Lady," said Handir with a smile, which the woman returned with a respectful nod of her head.

Legolas' worried expression had softened and then he looked at the designs once more. He could not imagine himself wearing them and yet they were simply magnificent. He had never seen anything remotely similar and he wondered if he would have the confidence to wear them…

For now though, he would stick with his fine leggings and new tunics, and leave these more intricate items for later, for his return to the Greenwood, for somehow, Legolas knew that would mark a new milestone in his life, a pivotal moment from which there would be no return.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

It was raining, or rather pouring down in sheets of silver, the kind of rain that soaked one to the skin in a heartbeat. They had trained indoors today but now, on their way back to their living quarters, or in the case of Legolas, back to the main building, he suddenly and abruptly stopped in his tracks, in spite of the rain that now ran down his hair and face, turning his skin to polished porcelain.

"Legolas, getting that hair dry will be no.." began Lainion but he stopped, for Legolas' eyes had turned a bright, glowing green, so bright an eerie mist collected before them. Lainion had seen this before but Glorfindel had only seen it once, in Celebrian's gardens and it made the finer hairs on the back of his neck stand painfully on end.

"Legolas?" he called.

"Orcs," he muttered, his eyes turning to the right as if he listened for something, "to the East. We will need at least 15 warriors…"

"Company, to _me!_ " shouted Glorfindel urgently. "Kit out, we ride in five minutes he said to Legolas who nodded absently, remotely grateful that the commander had not questioned his words.

"Bregor, run, inform Lord Elrond of our mission and do it quickly. Join us when you can."

"My Lord!" he acknowledged before sprinting through the rain in search of the lord.

"Legolas, _move!_ " shouted Glorfindel, already pulling him by his arm. Arm yourself, snap out of it!" he ordered, and this time, Legolas' eyes focussed on the commander. Nodding he ran back to the barracks where only his practice weapons would be found, his twin knives and two double-bladed spears which he had never used in battle before - but it was all he had, his beloved bow sitting in his rooms too far away to retrieve now.

Thrusting the short swords into his belt, he grasped the two spears and ran to the stables, still pulling on his leather jerkin. Stable hands ran this way and that as the warriors saddled up and mounted, adjusting straps and reins and stirrups, before wheeling their mounts around and trotting into the central courtyard to await their commander.

It was not long before Elladan joined him, his jet black hair dancing around his shoulders as he brought his mount under control.

"So now we ride for the first time together," he smiled and Legolas returned it with a curt nod and a hand upon Elladan's intricately embroidered vambrace.

"So we do - fight well, brother, lieutenant," said Legolas with a fey grin, his high pony tail swishing around his head and sending his braids flying this way and that.

Soon enough, the rest of The Company joined them, rallying around Legolas until finally Glorfindel and five Noldorin warriors arrived and Elrond came to stand upon the steps of the manor together with Mithrandir.

"Legolas, to me. Guide us," ordered Glorfindel.

"Sir," saluted Legolas as he took his place to the right of Glorfindel, the Silvan and Noldorin warriors behind.

"Hea!" shouted Glorfindel and they were away in a thundering cloud of hooves, under the intense gaze of Elrond and Mithrandir, who watched them leave.

"He is impressive," murmured Mithrandir, his eyes watching as the riders grew smaller and then disappeared into the surrounding trees.

"Oh yes. Every bit as impressive as his grandfather," drawled Elrond. "What a surprise awaits Thranduil," he said, well aware of the understatement and Mithrandir's cocked eyebrow.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Two hours of hard riding had passed, and not once had Legolas spoken, indeed it was all the warriors could do to follow him, for he had set a furious pace, and although his eyes did not glow, they were still brighter than normal.

Glorfindel watched him as they rode, aware that the Silvan was concentrating on whatever lay in wait for them. There was an intensity about him, a sharpness to his features.

Before long, Legolas held up his arm for the patrol to stop, and then pulled on his reins and turned his horse to face them. "They are close. Around thirty in one group. They are mainly goblins, but their leaders are Uruk Hai. They are as yet unaware of our presence and are damaging a sentinel as they set their camp."

"How far, Legolas? asked Glorfindel quietly.

"Five minutes ahead of us, there is a clearing with one natural entrance and no exit save through the trees.

Glorfindel issued his orders, his voice low and measured, hand signals backing up his commands. Turning once more to Legolas he seemed to notice the absence of his bow.

"Legolas, with Elladan and myself. Melven, Cormion, take the left flank. Company, to the trees on my signal."

The warriors nodded their understanding and in the blink of an eye, The Company scurried into the trees. Glorfindel frowned and turned to Legolas for an explanation, for he had meant for them to climb once they had arrived at the orc camp. Legolas allowed himself a smirk, explaining that they would navigate in the trees; it would make their approach quieter and allow them time to position themselves for the best possible angles. Glorfindel nodded his understanding, although truth be told he could not remember this tactic being used amongst the Silvan. He was either sorely outdated, or this was new.

Advancing on foot, the ground patrol soon arrived at the orc camp, and Legolas signalled to the rest of the troop behind them to stop, and remain silent.

Soon enough, they lay in wait behind the surrounding shrubs and watched. They counted thirty one orcs, some skinning their prey while others tended fires or cleaned weapons. Legolas took his hand to his temple in pain, as the sound of an axe thudded into live wood again and again, echoing around the glade as the tree was hacked at mercilessly .

Elladan looked at him in concern, laying a hand on his forearm, while Glorfindel waited for the right moment to signal their attack, his keen eyes spotting the well-camouflaged Silvans in the trees to each side of their position. He spared one last concerned glance at Legolas before turning his eyes back to the camp, deftly singling out its leader.

One of the two Uruk Hai squatted before the fire, warming its black claws, the orange light illuminating the reflecting layer that covered its yellow eye, turning it momentarily red. It was distracted, and if the Silvan archers were as good as he thought they were, no sooner he gave the signal they would pick out their prime victims well, they would know how to prioritise their targets.

With the stroke of his hand, the Silvan snipers fired and sure enough, the Uruk fell to the ground, an arrow through its temple, one of the group's commanders dead even before they engaged. With an elven cry, Glorfindel lurched forward, Legolas and Elladan right behind him, one with a skilful swivel of a mighty Noldorin sword and the other flipping two short swords before him, their metal glinting with the promise of a swift and certain death.

The orcs roared and screeched as the elves ran into their camp, hardly having time to take up their weapons and parry the first blows that rained down upon them. Elladan moved to the right, immediately engaging a goblin, while Legolas ran straight towards the sentinel that was crying out to him, yet to get to the tree he had to cross the entire camp, and well he would know that there were crossbows amongst the orcish weapons.

Working up his speed, he placed his palms upon the muddy floor and deftly flipped forwards three times, before changing his movement less he be targeted. Twisting and then somersaulting, he finally reached the tree, the metal tip of a short sword piercing the orc's throat and running through its neck with a sickening crunch. Yanking it back out he spared a moment to place his palm against the bark, before turning to parry the swipe of a scimitar that sliced through the air before his face. The claw that wielded it soon fell to the forest floor, its owner roaring in pain and wrath, before a wet gurgle ended the painful noise.

Stabbing backwards, he gutted another, and then hauled his left knife over his head and swivelled it around him, gaining himself some space from the encroaching enemy, for he was alone after his desperate dash to the trees, although still within eyesight of Glorfindel and Elladan.

The commander signalled for the archers to descend, and with a cheer, they ran for their quarry. Soon enough, the group was slowly coming together, although truth be told, even had they wanted to, they would not have been able to get anywhere near Legolas, for his swords whirled around him, slicing here and there but never stopping as he flipped them here and there, distracting, confusing, executing so fast the orcs had no time to think.

The last orc fell to the forest floor and Legolas stood over it, swords poised behind him should he need to finish it off, but it had been dead before it fell and so, he slowly relaxed his stance and gave one, last look of utter hatred at his enemy before turning to the sentinel and smiling softly, and then nodding almost imperceptibly.

Glorfindel wondered how he did that, for his face had been twisted in an expression of intense hatred, an expression that was both terrifying and unnerving, and then his face had softened and smiled in blissful joy. He was night and day, dark and light, young, and yet inexplicably old, mused the commander.

"Clean up," shouted Glorfindel, snapping himself out of his own musings, wiping off his sword and sheathing it and then stretching his senses out in search of any further danger, but he felt none and so he joined the others as they piled the carcasses and burned them. There was an odd silence as they did so and the commander felt the strange undercurrents between the Silvan and Noldorin elves, even between Elladan and Legolas. It was the first time they had fought together, indeed Glorfindel had never seen him in action until now, and truth be told, he knew not what to say. He knew the boy would be good, but what he had seen today was beyond the ordinary; it had seemed almost impossible for one so young and only then did Glorfindel realise, that now, in this very moment, he found himself standing before the greatest warrior he had ever known.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Hours later, when reports had been given and orders issued, when the lords had bathed and changed for dinner, Glorfindel sat together with his guests in the lounge of his personal suite of rooms.

Elrond, Erestor, Handir, Mithrandir, and Legolas sat and savoured the pale sweet wine Glorfiindel had offered them, the tell-tale absence of Legolas' head dress bringing a smirk to Mithrandir's weathered face.

"You have quite the issue with jewellery, lad," chuckled Mithrandir, and Legolas looked at him in misery.

"You have no idea, Mithrandir. I am not a prince, I am not even a lord save because my father has decreed it!" he exclaimed.

Handir sat forward, his own face somewhat peeved but for different reasons. "What is it you think a 'lord' is, Legolas, if not a political position?"

"Lords are born into high families, I was not," he answered curtly.

"That you were not brought up there is true, but that changes nothing. You are of that family, you cannot change that."

"No, no I cannot," admitted Legolas in defeat. "But that does not make it any easier for me to accept, Handir. I am a simple Silvan, born into a humble family. That is the education I have received and to wear a - a _crown!_ -" he almost whined, "I feel ridiculous…" he trailed off.

Elrond spoke then, his voice somewhat ironic. "Strange then, that a humble Silvan, born of a humble family, should be chosen as a Protege to a Vala…. don't you think? Is that not recognition enough for a lordship?" he asked rhetorically.

Legolas looked to the floor, for said like that it did make sense, and he said as much.

"Perhaps, my Lord. It is just - _strange_ and - unnerving to suddenly be deserving of things that others are not. These clothes, the fine metal, all these pretty things that so many do not have, will never have."

"You have never questioned lordship or rank before, only now when you have it. Does that not tell you something, Legolas?" asked Erestor.

Again, Legolas held his silence, for of all the reasons he had heard this evening, this was perhaps the most convincing. He was not being congruent with himself.

Glorfindel, realising Legolas would speak no more of it, picked up his wine and gestured to the table that had been prepared upon the veranda. "There is nothing like an invigorating battle to work up an appetite, right Legolas?" he asked jovially and Legolas smiled gratefully at the change of subject.

"Or," interjected Elladan, "a little gymnastics…" he trailed off with a sly smirk.

"Yes, both those things are true," said Legolas in mirth, "although it was not great battle. They were caught unawares and in insufficient numbers," he said as he took his napkin and placed it over his lap.

"Indeed, Legolas here could have taken them all on single handedly," said Glorfindel lightly, enough to draw Elrond's attention.

"You have taught him well," said the Lord, his eyes lingering on his friend and commander.

"Be that as it may," continued Glorfindel cheerily, "he was already better than any warrior I have ever known, even before his first lesson with me."

Elrond scowled and Mithrandir's eyes sharpened at the sweeping statement that had been uttered so lightly, as if he spoke of the weather.

But before any of them could question him, the doors opened and the servants set the plates of food upon the table, bowing before they left the lords once more to their repast.

"He is ready for the test of short sword master," said Glorfindel past a flakey cheese pastry.

Legolas almost choked on his wine, having had the misfortune of swallowing while Glorfindel spoke, and Handir's eyebrows rose to his hairline.

"So soon?" asked the prince incredulously.

"Yes," was the flat reply. "He is already better than our short sword master instructor, it makes no sense to wait. Handir, can you procure us with the Silvan designs for these master decorations?"

"Of course, Glorfindel. I will document myself tomorrow morning. When is the test?" he asked, a slight smile pulling on his lips now as he glanced at Legolas."

"Tomorrow, before the evening meal. Lord Elrond, will you sign as witness?" asked Glorfindel.

"Of course, if it pleases Legolas," he added.

Legolas, who had been staring at the plate below him, turned his head to Elrond, and then glanced at them all. His face slowly lighting up into a deep and beautiful smile, his eyes sparkling with joy and pride. All thoughts of absurd protocol now completely forgotten as the satisfying feel of success settled upon him.

"I do not know what to say…" he whispered, and Glorfindel smiled back at him, for the child's beauty had always succeeded in melting his heart. He was strong and yet so vulnerable, proud and yet so unsure of his own potential. He possessed a natural empathy that drew one in, that fascinated any who took the time to look into his eyes. It ensnared, trapped you so that even if one wished it, could not forget him.

"Fight like there is no tomorrow, Legolas, earn that decoration and place it under the one you already bear," said Glorfindel "There will be more to add soon enough but for now," he paused and then smiled mischievously, "give us a good show," he said, staring at Legolas as he popped a breaded mushroom into his mouth.

Legolas' tentative smile turned wicked and he smiled back in silence. Surprisingly, it was Handir that spoke first.

"Well this will be interesting!" he exclaimed. "Who will he confront?" asked the Sindarin prince.

"Our short-sword master, Dolgaden. The other masters will judge his performance after the routine and then it will be decided."

"How many pass the first time?" asked Handir.

"Three out of ten. The rest may pass after one or two additional years."

Handir turned to his brother and smiled, his eyes searching the smiling, shining face.

"I am proud of you…"


	42. Warlords of Old

Author's note:

Yay! 500 reviews. I seriously cannot believe how rewarding this is. Thank you so much for sticking with the story and giving me your thoughts.

Looks like there's another glitch as I have received no email alerts today for reviews that show on the reviews page - agh!

Leggyrespect123: ok, more questions answered in this chapter. Re what happened in the forest, that story may not be revealed just yet. It is something Legolas is, as yet, unwilling to speak of. It's too fresh, too unreal, still perturbing. Lainion, or Dimaethor, is there with the rest of the Company, even though he already is a lieutenant, like Elladan. Ram en Ondo and Rhrawthir will have their share of master tests, but probably in the Greenwood now - they won't have enough time! Elladan scowls at Glorfindel's comment but not out of jealously but disbelief - Legolas seems too young to be as good as Glorfindel reckons.

Ninde: Tu también eres genial, por leer y comentar. Me alego tenerte abordo :)

Noph: I understand you perfectly! Thanks for dropping by :))

Guest 1345: Good luck with those exams, and I'll do what I can :)

So on with the story. Lots of naked warrior Legolas here, just for you, Naledi!

Chapter forty-two: warlords of old

"Lord Erthoron. King Thranduil and this council will now hear your petition," exclaimed Aradan as he yielded the floor to the forest's spokesman, who rose and strode purposefully into the centre of the semi-circle that formed Thranduil's council hall.

"My lords," he began, his face set in a stern expression as his eyes swept over the entire council, including the Sindarin purists.

"The forest requests its own military leader. We need a commander to coordinate your efforts between the villages, to hold the southernmost borders so that our foresters have time to recuperate the sickening trees. We need this leader to fight for us, to protect our people and our crops, to protect the very land you rule over. He needs to be an excellent warrior and leader, one that can inspire our Silvan lads, truly understand our people. The forest demands its warlord of old, and he must be Silvan…" he said finally, his face set in determination and resolve.

"Why must he be Silvan?" asked a Sindarin lord, after a moment of surprised silence.

"Why must he _not_?" asked Erthoron pointedly, saying no more so as not to draw out another absurd conversation.

"Enlighten us, Lord Erthoron," asked the king, his voice momentarily startling the council members.

"He would be our warlord, the one the Silvans had before the Sindar came to us. He would answer to the king, of course, but he must be free to travel where he will. He must not be called upon for anything other than his purpose in the forests, must not be distracted from his duty to it."

"You suggest the king cannot deploy this warrior as he will, where he sees fit, for if he is so fine a fighter, should he not be expected to fight for _all_ of us, not just the Silvans? Or do you fall into your own trap, Lord Erthoron, where it is the Silvan people who will dominate?" asked Draugole pointedly.

Thranduil considered that point, for against all odds, Draugole was right.

"Nay I do not say that. I say we use our common sense, and common sense dictates the forest has a specialised commander. It is painfully obvious that this is not the case now, and though I do not wish to undermine Commander Celegon, I believe he does not have the resources to successfully administrate the more conflictive areas."

"But will this not lead to a schism of sorts?" asked another Sindarin councillor. "We would have a predominantly Sindarin army on the one hand, and a wholly Silvan army on the other. I fail to see how this will solve our inter-racial problems," he said worriedly.

"I do not propose this new warlord recruit solely Silvan warriors, my Lord. I would have him recruit the best. Indeed I would see Commander Celegon seek for equality amongst _his_ captains. If we both work under this premise, we will have achieved much this day."

Silence ensued, before Lord Aradan stood once more.

"The debate is now open," he proclaimed, and with those simple words, chaos erupted in Thranduil's council halls.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

The warrior stood in black breaches, over which a leather skirt hung lower at the front and back, the slits at the side reaching the top of his hips. A strong belt wrapped around his trim waist and from there upwards, there was nothing but pale, shining skin, stretched tightly over rippling muscle. The faint reminder of a battle with wargs decorated his chest and shoulder, nothing now but soft pink lines that were slowly fading to white.

His eyes were closed and his breathing slow and measured. His hair sat high upon his crown, a thin river left free to run down his back in the form of a plait, a Sindarin plait of warriorhood, playing tentatively with the Silvan braids at his temples.

In each hand, was a short sword of simple design. But someone had taken the time to polish the metal until it scintillated under the slowly waning afternoon sun. Upon his right bicep, a thin metal band snaked around the taut muscle, proclaiming the warrior a master archer of Greenwood the Great and who knew, perhaps soon, another would sit under it.

Before him stood a similarly clad warrior with hair as black as night. His grey eyes were open and appraising as he waited for the time in which he would call on the warrior to prove his skill with the metal in his hands.

Around the two warriors stood the witnesses, and behind them, a veritable sea of warriors that had come to watch the event.

Handir stood tall, with Lainion at his shoulder. Elrond stood together with Erestor in rich robes of blue and grey and Glorfindel stood in his ceremonial robes of blue and burgundy, of mithril mail and heavy velvet, his mighty sword poised at his hip.

To one side of the Commander, stood The Company, their faces grave and intense, their own basic uniforms clean and pressed, their weaponry glinting upon their backs and hips.

Silence, and within the silence a sea of thoughts and emotions. Love, hate, admiration, jealousy, desire - but there was one thing that united them all - _respect_.

With a noisy intake of breath, Dolgaden took up his ready stance, watching as Legolas opened is stunning green eyes and did likewise, slowly and measured, powerful and menacing.

For the next few minutes, the warriors moved from one stance to the other, slowly and precisely, their blades within inches of each other but never touching. The only noise was of their heavy breathing and the swish of heavy metal as it was pushed through the still air.

In spite of the exceptional skill of these two warriors, and the impressive spectacle they provided, not one sound came from the onlookers for thus it had been explained previously. The slightest of noises could ruin the concentration of a warrior and this moment, was for excelling, under optimum conditions.

The two warriors suddenly stopped and bowed their heads, before stepping back and striking a ready stance once more but this time it was different. One leg slid back until the foot lay parallel to the ground, leg muscles bunching with the effort it took to hold the posture without the slightest shake.

With a mighty cry, Dolgaden whirled his swords and lunged forward and Legolas parried the powerful blow with a groan of effort, dancing away to the side and under the slicing metal until he was behind his opponent. His counter attack was just as powerful and Dolgaden parried from behind before turning and twisting to the side to avoid a second stab forward which met nothing but air.

Attack and parry, their knives sliced and stabbed and cut and twirled with a skill that left Imladris speechless. The harsh rasp of clashing metal and the sounds of the warrior's efforts as they fought, spoke of years of training, years of sacrifice and with every passing move, the respect of their audience rose to heights previously unheard of.

They could have stopped by now, realised Glorfindel, for there was no denying the outcome of the trial, but Dolgaden seemed eager to push his apprentice to his limits. The instructor launched a frontal attack that was as brutal as it was powerful, forcing Legolas to take evasive action. Many would have fallen backwards in surprise, but Legolas skilfully bent backwards, and then placed his hands over his head and flipped backwards, once - twice, before slowing his own inertia with a backward sommersaut and landing in a ready stance. Dolgaden faltered for a moment, and it was all Legolas needed to launch his own attack. Whirling once, and then twice and then again, Dolgaden ducked and twisted, his movements a little desperate as he did so. It was then that Glorfindel knew Legolas held back for he had understood - this was not a competition, it was a test of skill and so, when both warriors had returned to the centre of their space, the instructor presented his swords before his face, signalling that the trial had ended.

Legolas returned the salute, his breathing heavy, eyes alight with the rush of adrenalin and Dolgaden held this salute for long moments, his Noldorin eyes boring into the green eyes of the Silvan. The moment was broken as the instructor bowed low and stepped away.

Glorfindel approached Legolas then, extending a hand and placing it on his bear shoulder.

"And still you hold back," he murmured so that only Legolas could hear.

Legolas' eyes turned to the floor for a moment before returning to Glorfindel. "How could I not? I have no wish to defeat your master instructor before his troop."

"And that is why you are so well loved, child. You have done well," said Glorfindel, holding back the words he had truly wanted to say, for now was not the time.

While the master instructors spoke quietly amongst themselves, The Company slapped Legolas upon the back, congratulating him as they spoke and laughed and finally made him laugh with their antics. It meant so much to Legolas, this moment of recognition. It was not the first, but it was, perhaps, the one that meant most to him for now, this time, he had family. His brother looked on in pride and Glorfindel made no effort to hide his own joy. It was a special moment and it was all Legolas could do to check himself and stop his eyes from welling.

He straightened abruptly as the master instructors approached him, their faces solemn and blank. Legolas' heart accelerated until it pounded in his ears, his eyes widening as he waited for them to speak.

"Legolas Thranduilion. You have been granted the status of Master of Short Swords, according to Noldorin martial law. As Lord Elrond Eärendil is witness, with this we seal the token," said Dolgaden as he produced a silver band he placed below the one that already hugged Legolas' upper arm. Stepping back, the Noldo bowed reverently, to which Legolas answered with his own.

"You are the best I have ever seen, child. I am honoured to know you," he said quietly, so that only Legolas and Glorfindel could hear him. A soft glance of silent understanding passed between Dolgaden and Glorfindel then, before the instructor turned, and left with a nod at his Commander.

There was a prolonged silence, before a strong voice rang out around the glade.

"Hwindohtar! Hwindohtar!" shouted Ram en Ondo, and then the Company as they raised their fists to the heaven in a mighty cheer. Only then did Legolas turn to Glorfindel, and envelope him in the most heart-felt embrace he had ever given. The Commander was slow to return it, surprised as he was by the effusive display from his young friend. Chuffed he was though, and so he hugged back, and then took the blond head between his hands.

"Serve well, be honourable, be brave, and your name will go down in the annals of the greatest of elven warriors," he whispered fiercely. "And remember, you are my son in all but blood, Legolas, you are my _son_ ," he emphasised and then gave one last squeeze to the lovely face, turned abruptly upon his heels, and left, under the wise and knowing gaze of Elrond Peredhel.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

The weather had turned, and winter chill turned to early spring freshness. The land was still dormant, but there was an air of expectant joy floating just out of his reach, tickling his senses and setting his mouth to watering inexplicably.

Soft footsteps caught his attention and he turned, only to see Elladan approach him with a nod and a smile.

"May I?" he asked, unnecessarily.

"Sit my friend. I did not see you yesterday."

"I was busy, with something I must speak with you about."

"Speak it," said Legolas, finally looking squarely at his friend.

"I want to join The Company…" was all he said, his eyes steady and frank.

After a moment of silence, Legolas spoke. "Have you spoken with your father?" he asked somewhat incredulously.

"Oh yes," said Elladan, his tone a token of the long hours he had spent with his father the day before. "I told him of my plans to further my military experience and my knowledge of healing, told him I would like to pursue this idea, of warrior healers in the field and he was - most _interested,_ " he said, as if his father's reaction still surprised him.

"Your father is well aware of the benefits of such a thing. It cannot be denied, even though it may take you away from him."

"Yes, and that was the short of our conversation. I told him there was no better place for my military training than in the Greenwood, for you see far more battle than we do here, and where there is battle, there needs to be a healer. I would ride with you, be the healer for the Company. Learn all I can, document my experience and then perhaps, sometime in the future, create a special unit, one that would be just as much a part of any battalion as the warriors themselves."

"That is wonderful, and you are most welcome to join us. I would have suggested it myself save that I never thought your father could dispense of you," he explained.

"I know, Legolas. I would be the first that does not come from the forest, the first Noldo. Is that acceptable to your people?" he asked tentatively.

Legolas' eyes sharpened on his friend and when he spoke, his voice was strong and determined. "My warriors are mine to choose, and I choose the best - race has nothing to do with it and if someone has a problem with that, we will take the flag of your noble Noldorin house and wave it under their stuffed up noses - what say you?" he asked with a sly smile.

Elladan smirked. "That would be a spectacle," he said before looking to the floor for a moment and then back at his friend. "I am one of two lieutenants in The Company, but I would defer to Dimaethor in questions of command, so that I may concentrate on my physical studies."

Legolas smiled. "That would work, yes. Now all I need to achieve is to get my own command," he giggled.

"That is true," said Elladan. "But I am sure that after Glorfiindel's report that won't be a problem."

"Perhaps not. It is me that believes I should not ascend so fast, that I should tutor, under someone like Tirioin, for example, and yet in order to do what I must, I need to command my own unit…"

"Then there is no point in toiling any further on that point, Legolas. You have two lieutenants who have years in the field to help you should you require it. You will not be alone to take the important decisions."

Legolas smiled and slapped Elladan upon the thigh. "Well glad I am to have you with us! I will tell the rest. Believe me by nightfall, you will have a new name!"

Elladan smiled and nodded, and then added, almost as an afterthought. "I never thought this day would come, when my heart and mind recognise the true calling of my life. I never thought to feel that everything fell perfectly into place and that I would be content, that I would feel this sense of pride."

Legolas rose to face him, and then placed a soft hand on his shoulder. "I know of what you speak," he said quietly with a soft smile. "I think you and I will be legendary friends," he added, and Elladan smiled, and then laughed for it was true. For the first time in his life he was excited, enthusiastic - he had a purpose and the means to fulfil it.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Legolas walked slowly through the gardens as the sunlight slowly waned, trailing his hands over bushes and barks, feeling their mounting joy at soon being allowed to leave their protective buds and smile at the sun once more.

However, he was distracted by the sound of two elves speaking not far away, and try as he might, he could not ignore their words.

"Why? Tell me at least that."

"I have been trying for ten years."

"And you always fail - you always will unless your attitude changes."

"Every time I fail I fail more clearly. It is a spiral I cannot rid myself of, my Lord."

"Have you thought of why that is? Really thought?"

There was silence, before the first elf spoke again.

"Then I will tell you why you fail, Melven Hadorion. You are jealous, you look to others and seek to discredit them, rather than looking to yourself and improving. You look to others to explain your own shortcomings, rather than humbly accepting that you made a mistake. Legolas, I think, was the perfect example. You cannot stand him because he is what you want to be…"

"No!" he said firmly, defensively, before controlling himself. "No, my Lord, it is not that. I cannot stand him, that is true, but it is because in him, I see my own incompetence… It is my lack of skill that angers me and leads me to lash out at those who show it to me, by being what I am not."

It was Glorfindel who remained silent then, just as Legolas moved into sight and both elves turned.

"Forgive me," he said with a smile, "I had no intention of interrupting…" he added, but his eyes settled upon Melven. "I know what you did," he said quietly, watching as Melven blanched and Glorfindel scowled at Legolas.

"What do you mean?" asked Glorfindel and Legolas turned to him.

"Lindohtar told me. During the battle, Melven had a clear shot at an orc archer who had sighted me. He did not fire though, instead turning to shoot elsewhere. It was Lindo who took down the sniper, just in time it seems."

"What!" roared Glorfiindel. "Melven, tell me he is wrong, that you did not do such a thing?" asked the commander in concern now.

But Melven only looked to the floor and kept his silence.

A long sigh from Glorfindel was followed by his tired words. "Melven, you know what I would say now…"

"Glorfindel," interrupted Legolas, reaching out to gently touch his hand. "May I make a suggestion?"

After a moment's though, Glorfindel nodded.

"This spiral that Melven has fallen into… I understand what he says. Melven," he continued, touching the warrior's arm to draw his attention. "Melven, what of your family?"

Melven's dark grey eyes stared back at Legolas and they were hollow, empty, and realisation hit Legolas even before the Noldorin warrior could speak.

"There are none left, my Lord."

"You are alone…"

"Yes," he whispered.

Turning to Glorfindel, there was a new resolve in the green eyes. "Glorfindel. Would you allow him to travel with Elladan and I, back to the Greenwood? Would you allow him to serve there?"

"His offence is grave, Legolas. He endangered a fellow warrior's life. He should by all rights be expelled all together."

"I know. But perhaps a second chance, in a different place, one last opportunity to shine…" said Legolas. There was a surety in his voice that puzzled Glorfindel, for Melven had done nothing but irk him, criticise him, snicker at him. Melven had taken every opportunity to discredit him, had even endangered his life and yet here Legolas was, advocating for him.

"It goes against my better judgement," said Glorfindel. If something happened to you because of him it would be my responsibility, Legolas."

"Not if I relieve you of it, Glorfindel."

"You can't, you have no rank," said the commander.

"Not yet, no. But if you were to include him in your escort back to the Greenwood… it is a two-week journey. The Company could work with him, decide whether or not he is up to the challenge, and if he is not, then he would simply ride back with you and that would be the end of it.

Glorfindel was quiet for a moment but he turned back to Legolas and with a silent apology in his eyes, he said, "No. I cannot allow it," and with one last look of disappointment at Melven, he strode away.

There was an awkward silence between Melven and Legolas, for they had only ever crossed words of disdain and always in the company of others. Now they were alone, and in the wake of such a transcendental moment for the Noldorin warrior, neither seemed to know what to say.

Legolas turned to leave but stopped in his tracks when Melven finally spoke.

"I am sorry."

Legolas regarded him then, seeing the sincerity in his eyes.

"I know," he said in defeat. "But it is too late. Glorfindel has made his decision."

"Did you mean it?" he asked, puzzled it seemed at Legolas' offer to take Melven back to the Greenwood.

"Did I mean what?" he asked.

"That I could ride with you, with the Company. It would be my last chance to prove my worth, show him I can command a patrol."

"I meant it, but you heard the commander."

"I heard him," he said softly, but then his face changed from one of abject misery to hard resolve and perhaps, sudden realisation. "I have been a fool," he said. "I have judged you ill and I am sorry for that."

"You are forgiven, Melven, truly, but there is nothing more I can do for you."

"Yes, yes there is!" he said urgently. "I will speak with Commander Glorfindel again tomorrow. I will convince him to let me go on the escort."

Legolas' face showed his skepticism all too clearly. "I doubt he will change his mind, but try if you will and if he does accept," he turned meaningfully to Melven, "then you will answer to The Company, as well as to your Commander for you have much to prove to him, but you have more to prove to us if you are to join us."

"The spark of a challenge flared behind the grey, Noldorin eyes and Melven allowed a smile to ghost over his lips.

"Until tomorrow then?"

"Until tomorrow, Melven. I wish you luck," said Legolas as he turned to leave. Hollow words, he mused, for Glorfindel would not allow it, he was sure of it.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

His muscles screamed in agony and if they could talk, they would be hammering at his common sense to stop and let them rest, for he had pushed them far past their limits.

The spear was marginally longer than his own body and was not particularly heavy, yet it required its wielder to hold it aloft for much of the time he was fighting, and this was calling on his lesser used muscles.

"Swivel! Turn! Overhead! Swipe back! Again! Again! _Again!"_

Sweat poured off his naked torso as Legolas toiled under the early spring sun, his two silver bands glinting proudly as the muscle below flexed and bulged as he worked through the positions.

"Forward lunge, tuck it back, back under! Again! again! _again!"_ shouted the instructor ruthlessly as he circled his trainee, checking his posture here and there, driving him hard.

"Both hands, forward attack, pivot! pivot!" No! _Again!_ "

Elrond tutted at his spear master's methods, shaking his head. "He is going to need a good massage tomorrow! he laughed somewhat bleakly. "Your instructor is harsh," he said.

Glorfindel nodded but did not turn to face him for he could not drag his eyes away from Legolas, and neither could the rest of the elves that had stopped to watch the strange spectacle, for no one wielded spears any more - or so they had thought.

"That is my fault. I told him to do it," he said distractedly."

"He's good," murmured Elrond, to which Mithrandir added, "he's very good."

Glorfindel simply smiled sparingly as he continued to watch and listen.

"Side twist then lunge - faster, faster, _again!"_

There was a thud as Legolas' body hit the ground in a tangled heap.

"Up! Get up! Do it _again!"_

With a mighty groan of exertion, Legolas ran and then side twisted as he brought the spear round and ended in a low lunge, the tip of his spear just below his instructor's neck.

There was stunned silence for a moment, and then one, single word.

"Good."

A wave of soft chuckles rippled through the crowds and the instructor nodded, to which Legolas relaxed, and then fell to his knees, his chest heaving, mouth as dry as the sands of Mount Doom.

"Well done," said Rhrawthir as he handed Legolas a cup of fresh water. He took it with both hands and poured it down his parched throat, drinking greedily until it was all gone and he handed it back with a silent plea for more. Rhrawthir laughed and then left for more, while the rest of The Company hauled him to his feet.

"You are a mess," said Elladan as they started back to the house, making the rest of them giggle at the understatement.

"Elladan," panted Legolas, his voice stilted as he struggled for air. "You, are well on the way - to earning - your warrior name…" he trailed off.

Idhrenohtar stopped for a moment before looking at Legolas disbelievingly and then at Elladan. "You are joining us? Elladan is joining The Company?" he asked excitedly.

It was Legolas who smiled now, and then nodded enthusiastically. "He has been given leave, for now at least," he said and with that, they were all patting the Noldo upon the back, cheering and ruffling his head.

"We have a Noldo in our midst, and a healer at that!" said Lindohtar.

"Aye. Elladan here has much to tell us of his projects. Perhaps tonight, after dinner, we could meet in the gardens? It has been long since we shared cups together."

They all cheered once more, the promise of some well-earned rest and relaxation lending an extra bounce to their step, except for Legolas, whose feet dragged more and more as they approached the house. The only real question was, would he still be awake for dessert?


	43. Noldorin Squirrels

Author's notes:

GB12390: Thanks for the great comment! Hope you continue to enjoy!

Leggyrespect123: Glad we got those questions answered. I love that you liked those fight scenes. The spear Masters will have to wait though, because there simply isn't enough time before they travel back, something will happen within the next two chapters. It's something for later though - a one shot perhaps. Regarding Legolas' age - all I can really say is that he would be equivalent to about twenty. Warriors are much younger in the Greenwood than they are in the other Elven realms, due to their high mortality rate. Thanks for the encouragement, as always :)

Guest1345: Glad you liked shirtless Legolas - but I hope it won't distract you from your studies!

Noph: Lots more from The Company from now, and spears? Yes, that is something Legolas will get round to, eventually, although possibly not in this story - no promises though :)

Chapter forty-three: Noldorin Squirrels

Elladan could not remember the last time his stomach fluttered in excitement, could not remember his mind racing forward like this, enumerating the things he would do, how he would do them. This enthusiasm had taken a firm hold of him and now he could not stop. Indeed his father had been looking at him from the corner of his eye for the entire time during dinner, as had Elrohir, and even now, in the Hall of Fire, as bards strummed their lyres and flutists sang out their sweet melodies, the shrewd grey eyes watched.

Glorfindel, as observant as ever, broke the comfortable silence with a comment he knew would draw them all in, even his father, who now looked expectantly at the Commander, and as he did so, Elladan could feel the almost tangible weight lift from his chest and he blew out a subtle breath in relief.

"Melven came to me today, Legolas," began Glorfindel, sipping on his wine and giving the Silvan a sideways glance before continuing.

Sure enough, Legolas was sitting forward. "Oh?," he said somewhat lamely, and Elladan snorted in mirth.

"Legolas, you are a terrible fibber. You must learn to hide that," he gestured to his face - "even _I_ can tell you already knew!"

Legolas smiled lopsidedly and Glorfindel gave a somewhat sinister grin.

"Well, not exactly," began Legolas ruefully. "He just - just mentioned that he might - try to change your mind…" said Legolas, flapping his arms around himself somewhat chaotically.

"Change his mind about what?" asked Elladan with a quizzical scowl.

There was an awkward silence, in which both Elladan and Elrond stared at Legolas for an answer.

"Well, you see there was an incident, during the skirmish the other day," began Legolas. "It seems that Melven had sighted an orc that was singling me out. He did not fire…"

"What?" asked Elrond blankly.

"Indeed. It was Lindohtar that reported it to Glorfindel directly, and Glorfindel had resigned to strike him off the warrior list for good. I - I _intervened._ "

Elladan scowled darkly and then leaned forward. "Why?" he asked, a hint of anger in his words. That elf is nothing but a fool.

Legolas looked to Glorfindel for a moment, but the commander only asked him another question.

"Well, tell them, Legolas. Tell them why you would do such a thing," he said drolly as he sat back and stared at his pupil.

There was a challenge in his voice, and Legolas had a moment of insecurity, but it passed quick enough. It was a test, one Glorfiindel placed before him to teach him, perhaps.

"There is a good warrior in there somewhere, lying under layers of bitterness and loneliness, under centuries of wilting pride and waning confidence. He has no friends, no family, no one to tell him he can be good, no one to give him a gentle push and tell him they believe in him, that he _can_ achieve his goal. He wants to be a warrior - more than anything - but he cannot get past his own inability for self-criticism. This is not the trait of a _bad_ warrior, it is the trait of one who defends himself, for to him, he has already failed, and he cannot abide anyone telling him it is so, telling him what he already knows - it is a circle of destruction he knows not how to break."

There was silence then, long moments in which those that knew the arrogant, sarcastic Noldorin warrior really thought on the words the Silvan had said. It was Mithrandir, however, who sat forward now, one hand smoothing down his wayward beard.

"And how do you know this?" he asked pointedly.

Legolas stared back at the old man. "Because I _see_ it - as clearly as I see you sitting before me."

The wizard held his gaze for far longer than Legolas, who had already turned away to Glorfindel.

"What did he say?" he asked.

Glorfindel smiled. "Exactly what you have just said, Legolas - exactly that," he said, and then smiled wider. "You are a good judge of character."

"Thank you," he smiled, obviously chuffed at the praise. "But did you accept?"

"Tell me you did _not_ ," whined Elladan, although from his face one would say he already suspected the contrary.

"I did, with strict conditions. Legolas will have his say of course."

"And The Company," said Legolas. "If he cannot work with them in the two weeks it takes us to journey back, then he will return with Glorfindel, in spite of my own wishes. Does that appease you, Elladan?"

"Enough, but he will cause us more work than we will already have. I cannot trust him in battle and I hope he does not prove to be a distraction when least we need one."

"I understand that," said Legolas. "But if he does prove himself, think of what we will gain, Elladan."

"There are many passing warriors out there, Legolas. I see nothing special in him."

"You are wrong," said Legolas with a resolve that spoke of absolute certainty. Think of all those years of bitterness, Elladan. He could have given up so many times, in search of his own happiness, taken on a different profession but he continued, again and again. He wants this as much as anyone I have ever seen. All he needs is someone to guide him, to understand him. In return we will gain an extraordinary and loyal warrior."

Elladan nodded his understanding. "Alright, but you will forgive my skepticism for the moment, Legolas. I am sure I will not be alone in this."

"Oh you will not," said Legolas. The Company will be furious with me, I have no doubt, especially Lindohtar…"

"Well," said Elrond as he sat back in his chair, wine in hand. "His father was an excellent warrior, you know. Hador of Lindon is still remembered for his sacrifice at Dagorlad.

Legolas' brow rose in curiosity, and Elladan merely shrugged. "He must resemble his mother then…" was all he muttered into his own goblet of wine.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSSTSTSSSSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Lindohtar took his archer's hand to his chestnut hair and pushed through the silky strands in frustration.

"I cannot _believe_ it!" he hissed. That foetid piece of orc shit…"

"Oh!" guffawed Ram en Ondo, and then rocked backwards where he knelt upon the forest floor, slapping his chunky thighs in mirth.

Elladan simply grinned as he took the wine skin to his lips and drank from it.

Legolas sat cross-legged, smiling somewhat distantly as he accepted the skin from Elladan and threw his head back to drink.

"Give him a chance, that is all I ask," said Legolas. "If I am wrong, he rides back with Glorfindel and that is the end of it."

"And in the meantime, he may get someone killed!" interjected Rhrawthir.

"That will not happen, Rhraw. In fact," he said as his eyes swivelled to the side, "you can ask him yourself," he said, turning then to face the silhouette that slowly walked towards them from the darkness of the gardens.

" _You!_ ," shouted Lindohtar as he slowly stood, his face set in a mighty scowl.

"Join us," was all Legolas said, his voice steady and calm.

Melven approached slowly, his eyes glancing over them all before anchoring on Legolas, and then sinking to the floor along with the rest of them.

"I would, I would speak with you, if you would just hear me for a moment. I do not ask for your friendship - only your understanding…" said Melven quietly to them all, but his eyes rested on Lindohtar.

"That depends on what you would say, _Noldo_ ," said Idhrenohtar, and although he did not shout or scowl, there was something chilling in his tone.

"I made a grave mistake, a stupid, childish decision I regret deeply and I ask your pardon, especially you, Lindohtar. I make no excuses for it, no justification.

"You had better not!" spat Lindohtar, but Dimaethor was already patting the irate warrior's forearm meaningfully.

"I don't know how, or why he even bothered, but Legolas spoke out for me. He - he said things that no one had ever said about me, he saw things that others had not bothered to look for. I realised then how stupid I had been, how infantile, in spite of my years and a thought came to me. That this was my moment, a moment I have failed to embrace so many times and yet now, somehow I knew - this would be my moment…"

"What are you talking about…" muttered Lindohtar.

"I mean, that if I can prove myself to Legolas, to Glorfindel, to you The Company, then I will finally be able to move forward, become the warrior I have always wanted to be, shed myself of my own inability to recognise my own errors.

There was a long silence, before Lindohtar finally spoke.

"You have much proving to do, Melven Hadorion, and you will find no sympathy with us. We will, however, give you a chance, but not for you. We do it for Hwindohtar."

Melven stared back at Lindo, and then at Ram en Ondo, Idhrenohtar, Rhrawthir, Dimaethor and finally, at the warrior with no warrior name - Elladan. "I understand, and I promise, I will not let you down - this - this means too much to me."

Legolas held up the wine skin, took another gulp and then passed it to Elladan who did likewise, and with a minute hesitation, held it out to Melven, his grey eyes shining with a myriad of emotions. Warning, curiosity, expectation…

Melven reached out and took it carefully, as if it were a precious gift to be nurtured. With a hopeful smile, he took it to his lips and drank, and then turned to Lindohtar, and where Elladan's eyes had been demanding, Melven's now told a story of apology, of a promise, of tempered enthusiasm.

Lindohtar met the eloquent eyes with his own as he reached out and accepted the skin, saluting melven with it.

"Do not make me regret this…"

They sat for the rest of the night and talked, and as they talked they drank, and as they drank they joked and laughed and soon enough, Ram en Ondo was challenging Elladan.

"You Noldor have no idea how to navigate the trees - can you even _climb_ one?" he scoffed.

"Of course I can you Silvan troll. We Noldo are alike to the red squirrel; fast and adept, sure-footed even upon the most slippery of barks.

The rest of the Silvans jeered and mocked his words in jest and Melven smiled at their antics.

"Red squirrel eh? Well where _we_ travel, you will only find black ones, this big," said Ram en, showing them the length of his wrist through to his elbow. Now _they_ are skilled in the trees, even if the trees do not welcome them - they shake them off if they can."

Melven's eyebrows rose and Elladan laughed. "Squirels do not fall from trees! giggled the warrior healer as he drank, and Ram en Ondo leaned forward.

"Show us! Show us how Noldorin squirrels traverse the trees!" he said with a challenge. "Two coins he falls on his noble arse!"

The rest of The Company roared in drunken laughter, imagining the undignified image of Elrond's noble son rubbing his backside. Indeed Legolas fell backwards into Idhrenohtar's lap, holding his middle as he laughed scandalously.

Elladan stood and bowed, perfectly serious and lordly, save that he leaned to one side for a moment before he could rectify his balance.

"Oooohhh!" they shouted as they pointed at him and laughed even harder.

"You have no idea what a Noldorin squirrel is capable of, therefore I move to enlighten your ignorant, Silvan preju - prejudice," he corrected. "Watch, and learn…" he drawled, and then disappeared into the nearest tree.

The Company was silent for a moment, frankly impressed that Elladan had been capable of pulling himself into the tree so fast, for one so inebriated.

"Where is he?" asked Lindohtar, his eyes searching the darkness.

"I don't know," said Rhrawthir, his head moving from side to side.

"shshs- listen…" said Dimaethor, trying to track Elladan by the rustle of leaves, but there was no sound and he frowned.

"Is he already at the top? I cannot hear the leaves," he said, puzzled.

There was a sudden thud as something black fell hard upon the forest floor, and then a groan of miserable pain.

A mighty snort escaped Ram en Ondo, but Llndohtar elbowed him in the ribs.

"Elladan?" asked Idhrenohtar. "Is that you?"

Silent expectation.

"Yes," came the breathless groan, and laughter erupted once more, loud and raucous.

Rhrawthir tried to talk through his laughter, only half successful. "He, he latched on to that - that low hanging branch and - _froze!_ \- like a fruit bat - that's, that's why we didn't see him!" he roared. "He was but ten feet from the ground, and still…."

Ram en Ondo tried to control his wheezing, "You owe me - two coins! His arse will be as black as his hair tomorrow!"

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

It was at breakfast the next day, when the entire Company watched in evil expectation as Elladan sat next to his father at the family table. His face was blank and noble, if not a little pale, the perfect mask of a young and handsome lord, yet when his body touched the chair there was the hint of a grimace, and that was all it took for the Silvan warriors to snort and then wheeze in mirth, Legolas desperately trying to cover his treacherous mouth as Idhrenohtar hooted even though he was trying to muffle it in earnest.

All eyes fell on them, some in askance, others in immediate understanding and others, with a smile of their own. It was clear the lads had been out the previous evening, and some such mischief had occurred - involving Elladan and The Company.

Mithrandir, being Mithrandir, chuckled himself as he asked, "well, are you going to tell us what happened?"

Elrond watched his son as Glorfindel, Erestor and Handir watched the Company, and then Legolas as he controlled his laughter and made to answer.

"Suffice it to say, my lords," he began, his voice a little strangled, "that Elladan earned his warrior name last night. He is," he struggled to finish his sentence, "he is Rafnohtar - the Winged Warrior!"

Scandalous laughter exploded at The Company's table, as chair legs scraped over the floor and the warriors convulsed in uncontrollable hysterics, Ram en Ondo hitting the table over and over again.

Mithrandir chuckled again and Handir grinned at his brother's antics. Elrond turned to his son.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I eh," began Elladan, "I was explaining the kinetic qualities of - of Noldorin squirrels!" he shouted and then slumped over the table in laughter. It was too much for Glorfindel, who threw his head back and laughed noisily, slapping his leather-clad thighs. This, in turn, set Mithrandir off even more and even Elrond was smiling now.

"Children!" he exclaimed as he watched them all, unable to remember a time of late, when such happiness had been seen in his Halls. He knew then, that he would miss his elder son, he would miss The Company, and he would miss the Silvan, even though he had no doubt that he would see him again.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTTTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

In two day's time they would be back on the road, heading for the Greenwood, and everyone had reason for thought.

Legolas struggled to control his anxiety at meeting his father, his other brother, and perhaps even his sister, and he wondered too, at how he would achieve gaining his own command so that he could begin what Yavanna had bid him do.

Yet he also thought of seeing Amareth again, Erthoron and Thavron, seeing Broadtree once more and all his friends he had left there in the village that had seen him born.

And then there was the feeling of voluntarily walking into a pit of mountain pumas. He was not so childish to believe he could just walk into the Greenwood and be accepted. He knew there would be animosity - hate even. The strange thing was that he could actually understand that. The question was, how would he deal with it? Would it be so bad as to be dangerous, even?

As for Elladan, he dreamed of creating his own, military unit of warrior healers, writing a book perhaps so that others could create similar protocols. He also dreamed of improving his military skills, of becoming a sword master, perhaps, but most of all, he now looked forward to belonging to that elite team of extraordinary fighters that Legolas had resolved to create. The question was, of course, how would he be received? For his father's people were not well-loved by the Silvan people, not after the dreadful losses at Dagorlad.

Melven too, knew what he had to do. It was simple - prove himself as a trustworthy warrior, gain The Company's acceptance and perhaps, become one of them. But could he finally overcome his own arrogance, his own blindness to his weaknesses? Could he eradicate those weaknesses without becoming defensive and unjust? Could he make his dead father proud?

Handir had his concerns about his half-brother and his acceptance by the Sindarin nobles, not to mention his own brother. But so too did he have his own goals clearly impressed in his mind. How to achieve a more just society, to bolster the Silvan cause and put a stop to Bandorion's delusions of kingship. How could he be his own elf and not an extension of his father? Could he finally come into his own, after his experience under Erestor's skilful tuition?

As for The Company, Lindohtar, Rhrawthir, Ram en Ondo and Idhrenohtar had only one goal in mind. Serve with The Company, under Legolas, help him in his cause to protect the forests for through him, they served the Valar. There was no nobler a cause. Of course they had other concerns, for Idhrenohtar would take the grade for Master Archer no sooner they arrived in Greenwood, and likewise Ram en Ondo would try his own luck as Hand-to Hand Master.

Dimaethor, the Avari, already a Hand-to-Hand Master, had a mind to try his own luck with the sword, and in secret, he wondered if there would be a place for his own people in the grand scheme of things, if perhaps one day the flag of the Avarin people would fly proudly beside that of the Sindar and Silvan people of the forest.

So many challenges lay ahead of them, so many personal goals to achieve, so many opportunities in which to shine as bright as any star upon the firmament. Their hearts were bolstered, their minds set, and together, they had resolved to achieve great things.

Yet none of them were naive enough to believe there would be no mishaps along the way. There would be yet now, none of them were alone, for they each had six brothers on which to rely. One was wise and the other was strong, one was fierce and the other artistic, one had wings and the other was silent, and the seventh was a whirling demon in battle, their leader - a leader with no rank, a Protege.


	44. Homeward Bound

Author's notes:

And here we go, back to the Greenwood and into the great unknown! Action, adventure, angst and political disquiet coming right up.

GB12390: I am chuffed! Thank you :))

Ninde: gracias, amiga. Espero que te guste la intriga y la acción que te espera en este bloque final de la historia.

Leggyrespect: I really wish I could answer you personally - your reviews are always so encouraging :)) He is young, and this will be an issue to those that have to make decisions in the Greenwood. Trusting a twenty-year-old with military decisions is not exactly an easy thing to do! Glad you liked Elladan and The Company's tom-foolery :))

Noph: LOL, thanks! Glad you liked the Winged Warrior and yes - back to The Greenwood we go.

Guest 1345: OH, you are school less now? Free? OMG.

Earthdragon: Melven is a challenge for them all, I think, and there will be a lot more of that coming right up. Funny how so many people adore Elrohir, rather than Elladan (sorry Finfin, Naledi, but you know it's true). Therefore I choose Elladan - no squabbling.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Chapter forty-four: Escalation

The first Greenwood Summit had finished, and if one thing had become clear, it was that this Sindar-Silvan divide was real, the rift much wider than any of them had suspected. Bandorion and his faction of purists had been strengthened in some ways, for the picture of past glory and bounty struck a longing in the elder Sindar, a deep and heart-felt desire to return to those days in which country and king were everything, in which honour and service was all any young lord aspired to. Those were the noble families that had followed Oropher himself to these new lands.

Yet that position had also been weakened, for the Silvan spokesperson, Erthoron, had spoken plainly and convincingly. He did not wish the opposite for them, he said, but the same for his own, Silvan people. All they asked for was the same recognition, the same right to be proud of their culture, without undermining the other cultures amongst which they lived.

But Bandorion, brother of Oropher, took things to the extreme and while many did not agree with that it was the only official stance that stood overtly for the renewal of that glorious Sindar identity. There were many Sindar that embraced their Silvan brothers and agreed that their military structure was as biased as it was unjust to the forest warriors, and they did not believe that leadership did not come naturally to the Silvan people, agreeing even, to the creation of a Military leader similar to the ancient figure of the Silvan Warlord. What did they have to lose, so long as the Silvan people were loyal? Of course Erthoron and the Silvans had demanded this position be offered to Legolas, and truth be told, none were quick to agree, stating simply that they would meet this Silvan, Thranduil's illegitimate son, before bestowing upon him such an important position.

No decision had, therefore, been made, for Thranduil had postponed it until Handir had returned to the woods, with Legolas as part of the escort. Once he had met the boy, once he had presented him at court and there was concensus, only then would they decide, and although there were many against his naming, there were more in favour of it.

That had been two weeks ago, and the halls had emptied once more, leaving the predominantly Sindar population at the fortress, with only a smattering of Silvans here and there. They were mainly teachers, servants and healers, or those that cared for their animals. But it would not stay like this for long, for in a few scant days, everything would come full circle. Thranduil's family, with the exception of Maeneth, would come together, for the first time, and with Handir's coming, so too would Legolas.

Aradan watched his friend as he paced the library where they had been reviewing the petitions and suggestions the Silvans had left for them to consider, but today, there was no rest for the king for he was distracted, and it was no mystery to Aradan as to why that would be. The moment of truth approached and where he had thought the king decided and resolved with respect to his son, now he seemed unsure, doubtful, worried that perhaps, the boy would not live up to the expectations that had slowly been building over the days of the summit.

From Elrond's missives, and Handir's own words, the child seemed competent, and he thought perhaps that it was more to do with how the king anticipated Legolas' acceptance or otherwise of his family, how he would treat his father, his elder brother. Would he embrace them? Would he despise them? Would he want nothing to do with Erthoron's dreams of restoring the Silvan forest to what it had once been?

There was also the question of his tender age. Seven hundred and forty four was nothing, indeed most novice warriors were at least eight or nine hundred years old. The responsibility may be too much for one that was not born into royalty, for one that had not been instructed in the ways of statesmanship and leadership.

With a quick glance at Rinion, who leant against a bookshelf skimming through a small, leather-bound book, he addressed the king.

"Thranduil," he called quietly.

"Yes?" came the far away voice.

"You are fretting," said Aradan somewhat boldly.

Thranduil turned and narrowed his eyes at his Chief Councillor.

"You grow impertinent, Aradan," he said, but the advisor knew that tone - he was not angry - he was irritated with himself for not hiding his agitation better than he had.

"Well?" prompted Aradan, his own eyebrow rising.

"They are due to leave around now, within the next few days. Handir will return and with him, his younger brother."

"Legolas, yes, or should I say the _Silvan_ \- as they are now calling him?"

The king huffed in impatience. "They claim him as their own and yet he is Sinda too. I wonder how he feels about that…"

"He will most likely reject that side of his blood," said Rinion, almost distractedly, "and I wager the only reason he will make the effort will be for his own, personal gain. How can you love someone you have never met?" he commented flippantly as he turned a page in the book he surely was not reading.

"You are so sure of that, my Prince?" asked Aradan.

"No, but it is only to be expected. Most elves would react just so - why are we to presume he will be any different to the rest of the lower-class Silvan warriors?"

"And why are we to do the opposite?" asked the king measuredly. "Do you know any lower-class Silvan warriors on a personal level?"

After a silence, the Crown Prince simply shook his head and said, "No," as if that had no bearing on what he had just said.

"I wish you would think before you speak, Rinion. You are Crown Prince, you cannot afford to be judgemental.

"I am not being judgemental, father. I am being realistic. It is true that most elves would take advantage of such a situation," he said, snapping his book shut and turning to king and advisor.

"Imagine. Poor boy from a working-class Silvan family - or rather single parent, a bastard child with a father complex is suddenly told he is the son of the king. Oh, he may have a moment of righteous anger, deny it is true but when he thinks about it," he stressed, looking his father in the eye without the slightest of self-doubt, "he realises all the advantages this may bring to him, and to his family. His friends and his own ego… He could rise in the ranks of warriors, he could court the fairest maidens, he would be respected - can you not see the danger of believing whole-heartedly that this boy will simply fall into your arms, that he will be loyal to you, to the kingdom. The question is, father," he said slowly and calmly, "why do you NOT doubt?"

Thranduil watched his son for long moments, and then turned to Aradan, who stared back at him blankly.

Thranduil sighed and turned back to the window and the dying sun.

"Perhaps," he said softly, "because I want to believe it, just as you do not."

Rinion joined his father at the window and peered through the glass at the every-day scene below.

"Yes," he said quietly. "That is the short of it, I suppose, and in that - we are both wrong," he said, "and we are both right."

Thranduil turned to his eldest child, a new light in his eyes. "Well done. You have given good council," he said with the ghost of a smile.

Rinion turned to meet his gaze, searching his father's eyes.

"Do not get me wrong, father. I have no sympathy for him but that does not mean my reasoning is incorrect, just as the opposite is not true."

"Then perhaps together, we can find common ground. All I ask," said Thranduil emphatically, "all I ask, is that you do not judge him unfairly and I, in turn, will not presuppose his merits, his good intentions. Is that enough for you?"

Rinion nodded. "It is enough," he said, and then turned back to the bookshelf with a short, somewhat defiant nod at Aradan.

Aradan was left wondering why he did that, for he had never set the king against his elder son and he was, of a sudden, indignant at the Crown Prince.

"Whatever the case," said the Advisor, tempering his irritation, "we will soon find out," said Aradan. "He may be indifferent, he may be angry too - for he must always have known his father was a Sinda. This in itself would be reason enough to reject that side of himself."

"Aye. All his life thinking he had been abandoned, or that his father was some kind of - pestilent outlaw. Amareth told him nothing, not even to put his mind at rest. I confess I do not understand that woman," said the king.

"She was scared, Thranduil - still is I think. You know, I always had the feeling she did not tell us everything, that she held back for there are parts of her story that do not tally. Why - why would she not tell the boy anything? What was she hoping to achieve with that? Would it not have been easy enough to tell him his father had died in battle? That way the child would, at least, have felt wanted."

"And when he reached Valinor, or Mandos and found out that was a lie? It is not the Silvan way, Aradan," said Thranduil simply.

Aradan shrugged his shoulders. "The fact remains that until we meet him, we cannot know for sure what he thinks, how he feels. His letter suggests he is not unwilling to embrace a family, at least I detected no animosity in his words."

Rinion huffed from where he stood, but he held his silence and Aradan bit his lip once more.

"No, there was none, and yet cold indifference can be just as bad as outright hatred, Aradan, this you know well," said the king.

"Yes, I do know. What worries me most is Bandorion's odd silence."

"Yes," agreed the king, "that is strange, is it not. I had half expected him to be petitioning to speak with me on the summit, to rage on this or that, but nothing - not the slightest of protests."

"Thranduil; you don't think he is - well - plotting something, do you? Is he truly capable of - harming the child, do you think?" asked Aradan, for truth be told this feeling had been growing steadily in his mind for the past few days.

"I do not think so Aradan. But there is the question of Lassiel's death," he said quietly. "We do not know who was responsible for that - but we both know the order may have come from him - my own uncle," he said somewhat bitterly.

Rinion turned to his father in outrage. "You jest, surely. You cannot believe for one moment that Bandorion would incur in - in _murder_!"

"We have just discussed that point, Rinion, and I thought we had agreed. I have reasons to believe it is a possibility, just as you have reasons to believe Legolas is a scheming Silvan who seeks nothing but his own gain from all this!" he shouted, sick of his son's inconsistencies.

Rinion stared wide-eyed at the king, his jaw working furiously but his tongue remained still.

"He would not - it is too much. I would expect it perhaps, from Draugole, but not Bandorion," he said, his voice more vulnerable now, less convinced.

"Thranduil. When they arrive I would suggest…"

"A guard, yes, I know. Will you see Celegon about our concerns tomorrow? Make sure he is discreet about it?"

"Of course."

"What happened to him, I wonder," mused Thranduil aloud. "What happened to my father's brother to turn him against me?"

"I do not know, my friend. But it goes to show, that being family is not always a good thing - or even a safe thing…"

And again, Rinion snorted.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTTSTSTSTSTSTTSTSTSTSTS

They departed at dawn. Glorfindel rode at the fore, with Dimaethor at his side, and behind him, Prince Handir and Mithrandir.

Flanking the Commander, his lieutenant, the Prince and the Wizard, was The Company, now seven strong with the recent incorporation of Elladan, or Rafnohtar as he had been named after his drunken escapade into the trees.

Melven brought up the rear for that was where The Company had sent him, and to his credit, the Noldorin warrior had accepted it with his now, customary blank face.

The Company had taken great pride in their appearance today, for they escorted a Prince of the realm. Their uniforms were pressed and clean, their weapons shining gloriously in the early morning sun, including Legolas' two spears that sat in a harness along his horse's flank for there was no room for them upon his back, where his quiver, bow and short swords lay in waiting, peaking out from behind his high pony tale, one thick braid lying over his shoulder and reaching down to his saddle.

Legolas rode at the fore of The Company, next to Elladan, to whom he would defer as his superior officer if need be, indeed Dimaethor had been named second to Glorfindel on the journey home, for he was more experienced than Elladan, and he knew the terrain into which they would journey far more intimately. It had also been Elladan's wish to ride with his new patrol, to concentrate his efforts in acclimatising himself to their ways, to their predominantly Silvan protocols.

"Where did you get that?" asked Rhrawthir, pointing at a lyre that hung from the side of Lindohtar's horse.

"Ah! A gift, a mighty gift from my friend Lindir of Imladris. We have become fine friends! he exclaimed."

"You will regale us with your songs then, upon the road?" asked Ram en Ondo hopefully, to which the Bard Warrior grinned as he nodded. "Of course, brother!"

Spirits were high for the rest of the day as they traversed the safe lands of Imladris. They were still two days away from the borders, and although Glorfiindel kept a tight reign on the groiup, he would allow them the small comforts of travelling on the road, at least until they came into the foothills.

At dusk they called a halt and Legolas watched as Glorfindel deployed his warriors.

"Rhawthir and Ram en Ondo, take first watch. Idhrenohtar and Lindohtar, second watch. Legolas, Elladan, third watch. Dimaethor, you rest for today, take the final watch tomorrow."

"Aye, Sir," he saluted and then moved away. Glorfindel caught Legolas' gaze and observed him. Legolas nodded that he had understood that tactic, tucking it away for future use and the Commander smiled approvingly.

Soon enough they were sitting and enjoying the spits of roasted game and fresh water, and then listening to the calming sound of Lindohtar's new lyre. Ram en Ondo clapped at the song he had just finished as the others smiled indulgently at the gentle giant's almost boyish enthusiasm.

Glorfindel sat nearby, honing his sword as he listened to the warriors and smiled softly, and Melven too, sat a little further away, listening but not smiling, staring into the orange flames of their hearth.

As for Handir, he was lying on his bed roll, body propped up on one elbow as he wrote in a journal.

Mithrandir, watching them all, rose and fished his pipe from his pocket, his sparkling blue eyes glancing over Hwindohtar.

"I am going for a smoke - will you join me, Legolas?" he asked, yet something in his tone told the Silvan it really hadn't been a question at all, indeed before he could answer, the wizard was moving away from the fire.

Sitting on a rock at the perimeter of their camp, he patted another one at his side as he lit his pipe and closed his eyes in bliss as the first cloud of thick, fragrant smoke vanished into his mouth.

"I know we have not set off on friendly footing, Legolas, and for that I am sorry," he said quietly.

Legolas was surprised at that, for it was as if another entirely different man sat beside him.

"I think we underestimated each other," answered Legolas.

"Yes, I will admit to that," he said pensively as he puffed again on his pipe, blowing out a shape that seemed to Legolas to be a worm, only it grew wings and flew away, dissipating into the evening breeze.

"You know of Aiwendil? The Brown Wizard?" he asked lightly.

"I have heard of him, yes. They say he is eccentric, and given to smoking dried mushrooms that addle his brain," he giggled. "Is it true?"

"Oh yes," smiled Mithrandir. "But don't let that fool you. He is wise in the ways of Lady Yavanna's creation, Legolas. He would teach you many things."

"Then I will visit him, when I can," he added.

Mithrandir turned his face to the child beside him. So beautiful in his youth, so fascinating in the natural wisdom he possessed. He had, indeed, judged him short, but now, now the child was growing on his soft side, the side very few on middle Earth ever had the fortune to see.

The moment was spoiled though, as the smoke tickled the back of his tongue and he coughed.

"Ai, confounded fumes!" he whined as he flapped his hands around his head and coughed again.

"You will excuse me," asked Legolas rhetorically, his voice a little strangled. "How you bear it…"

"I know, I know, Elrond nags at me constantly for it!" exclaimed the wizard. "Go about your business, boy," he said curtly, but there was a smile on the wrinkled lips and so Legolas nodded, and turned away.

"You should be sleeping," said Glorfiindel from where he sat on the ground.

Legolas turned to him, watching as he sharpened his weapons. "I will," he said distractedly.

"What are you thinking?" asked Glorfindel.

"Where to begin?" asked Legolas. "So many things… " he trailed off.

"One day at a time, Legolas. Take it one day at a time," he said wisely.

"What," he began, casting a furtive glance at The Company further away, "what of the Qalma Liltie?" asked Legolas, worried, it seemed, that now they were leaving, that project would be dashed.

Glorfindel smiled and finally turned his face to Legolas, his sparkling blue eyes anchoring firmly onto the strange green irises.

"I wager you and I will not be parted for long," he said as he thought. "I will find a way to visit as often as I may, when our own borders are secure."

"You think that feasible?" asked Legolas as he sunk down beside the Commander, a hopeful expression on his face that suddenly made him seem as young as he really was.

"I will make it feasible, Legolas. I meant what I said. You are the son I never had and do not ask me to explain that for I cannot. It is one of those moments in your life when you just know that something is so, that no amount of reasoning will make any clearer. It is a matter of the spirit, I think," he said thoughtfully as he pulled the stone over the edge of his curved dagger.

Legolas smiled and then looked to the floor for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. "It is such a strange thought for me, Glorfindel, to have a father… to have someone like you who believes in me, that feels pride at my achievements, that feels them as if they were his own."

"Well, get used to it then, for soon you will have two…"

A slight frown marred the beautiful features. "My father has accepted my existence, accepts me as his son and has named me Lord - but there is nothing between us. None of this means I will feel the same way about him as I do about you, Glorfindel."

"No, there is no guarantee. But I wish it for you, Legolas. I truly hope you can come to know your father, that you can come to love him."

Legolas held Glorfindel's gaze, thinking long and hard before he spoke again.

"Who can say, Glorfindel? What I do know, is that he is my king and as such, I will serve him as the warrior I am. I can guarantee no more."

"And that is fair enough. Give him a chance, and then do as you will. I will always be here, no matter what happens."

Legolas leaned into him, felt the strong shoulder beneath his head and then the strong arm as it wrapped around his back, a warm, solid hand wrapping around his bicep.

Is this what it was, he wondered, to have a father? To have this strong, solid presence beside him, one that did not judge, one that felt pride and love for him? The world suddenly felt lighter to Legolas in that moment, his burden of responsibility somehow lessened as he thought of the steadfast presence of this mythical warrior who had somehow, to his own great fortune, taken him as a son.

Whatever happened now with Thranduil, Legolas would hold to this, remember this, embrace Glorfindel as his father. Should things go ill between him and the king, Legolas would no longer continue to consider himself a bastard - he had a father in Glorfindel of Gondolin.

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Three days later, The Company found itself on full alert as they travelled through the mountain pass. The weather had turned frigid and the prince sat huddled in the centre of their group, his body hunched protectively over his mount in a futile effort to stave off the freezing wind that buffeted them from all sides.

There was no talking, no light-hearted banter. They were alert, their eyes swivelling here and there, ears open to the slightest of discordant sounds, and when they finally found a rocky enclave within which they could set up camp, there was no fire, no hunting and no soft music from Lindo's lyre.

Handir sat hunched over himself, his face pale but his nose as red as any summer rose, and Legolas approached him and then crouched down to meet his eyes. He softly placed his own cloak over his brother's shoulders and wrapped it around him, before nodding and moving away.

Handir looked after him, regarding him for a moment, before the ghost of a smile graced his face and he pulled the welcome cloth closer around him, and allowed his mind to return to its musings.

The following two days passed in much the same way, in tense silence and soon they were descending the mountain, and green grass began to peak through the carpet of snow. The wind had ceased its torture and the sun was slowly melting the ice and snow that still littered the ground.

There was no sign of orcs, indeed Legolas' good spirits was always a trustworthy sign that they were safe for the moment.

Quiet conversation had begun once more, and Handir sat a little straighter atop his horse.

Melven listened to the warriors as they spoke of their things, simple impressions, things they would do when they got home, the food they hoped their mothers or sweethearts would cook for them - the kind of things he imagined friends shared with one another, the kind of things he had not spoken of for many centuries.

A wave of self pity slammed into him and his eyes lost focus, his mind visually reminding him of why he had turned so bitter, so defensive, so offensive…

A Noldorin warrior falling from his horse, a pretty maiden holding her hand up in silent farewell…

Damn them, he spat to himself. Damn them for leaving him, curse them both for abandoning him to a life of solitude and grief. What had he done to deserve it? he asked rhetorically.

A soft hand poised upon his own startled him and he jerked in the saddle, his eyes snapping to the elf upon his horse beside him, looking at him with eyes that seemed to know - know his pain.

Idhrenohtar's grey eyes stared at him and then the Wise Warrior smiled softly.

"You are doing well," was all he said, before trotting back to the rest of his companions.

He had been abruptly jolted from his dark thoughts and the shock of it, the unexpectedness of those clear grey eyes, had somehow made those thoughts more distant. He would think on it, decided Melven as he came back to himself, to his position at the end of the line, behind The Company, the last warrior. But strangely enough, where before he would have considered it a slight, now, it was almost an honour.

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Thranduil's realm was alive with rumour and mounting expectation. With every day that passed, Prince Handir's escort drew closer to them, and with the escort, rode the Silvan, the king's illegitimate son, the warrior the Silvans claimed as their own.

The Silvan had already made for himself a reputation as a soldier, having become first a novice, and then a warrior in record time, achieving the status of Master Archer even before riding on his first patrol. Who could have said he was Thranduil's child? They said.

The statesmen and councillors spoke of the political implications, and the idle ladies spoke of his status, of what he would look like, of whether he sought a wife.

Further afield, in the forest, the villages spoke of his return, of the end of an era of necessary secrets in which they had protected the child from those that would seek to eliminate him. They spoke of whether he would be accepting of what they had agreed upon, whether he would take up the responsibility and become their warlord.

And amongst them, the Spirit Herders, with Golloron and Narosen at the fore, spoke of other, more abstract questions, for some months ago, there had been a great disturbance in the forest, one they could not explain, knew not the nature of. They were, however, convinced of one thing. That whatever it had been would soon make itself known - and for some reason, Narosen had been adamant that it had something to do with the boy, the Silvan.

It would be as Erthoron had said. The Silvans would travel back to the fortress to welcome Legolas, and then to speak with him, explain to him what they wanted. They would show the Sindar what it meant for the Silvan people to regain their culture, their spirit, their art and their dance. They would tell the Sindar how mighty an ally they had, and just how dangerous they could be as an enemy.


	45. Winds of November

Author's notes

Thank you so much everyone, for the fantastic feedback last chapter. So, hold on tight and enjoy the ride :)

Leggyrespect: glad that worked. I wanted to give Legolas something rather than keep hammering on his emotions all the time, so you're right. I wanted to give him an alternative to the turmoil in the Greenwood, a place to anchor himself if he needs it, and a father figure to talk to. Nail-biting? I hope my writing is good enough to have you gnawing on them, yes - LOL, but you will let me know of course! The journey back? eh, well, there will be a slight - hold up, yes.. ehem. You will also see in this chapter that yes, there is potential danger for Legolas here. The mystery of Lassiel's death is still just that - there is a murderer out there somewhere. How will they see how good he is? Well now, Legolas already knows he is going to have a hard time convincing everyone of the things he needs to do - but there is a way…

Ninde: Gracias amiga, por tus palabras tan generosas. Efectivamente, al bosque nos vamos y el encuentro esperado se acerca.

GB12390: Thank you :))

Guest1345: Thanks! Enjoy your summer! Me? Writing probably :)

Noph: That's right, Legolas is physically changed. His hair is longer and thicker, his light is more intense, so Amareth and company will definitely see a difference. Legolas himself would fall into that category of a lower-class silvan warrior - so Rinion is in for a ride :)) Bandorion is Thranduil's uncle, so Barathon is Thranduil's cousin, and Legolas' second cousin - got it? LOL

Earthdragon: I am glad you like Legolas and Glorfindel - it really does give Hwindo a solid base, a homestead if you like, someone he knows he can rely on. Thranduil does realise that Bandorion is after the crown - so there is not much innocence about him, it is more perhaps that he is loathe to believe he would be capable of murder - Rinion certainly doesn't believe it - it's him that is being more naive, I think. Melven is bitter, yes and his backstory will be unravelled soon. Thanks for the great comments !

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Chapter forty-five:

The air of expectation and enthusiasm was returning to the tired travellers, to everyone except Legolas, who grew quieter the closer they travelled to the fortress.

They were close now, and the land smelled different, felt different. Even the sounds, for the birds sang a distinctively woodland song, unmistakable to any Silvan or Avarin elf, and exotic to the Noldorin members of their group. And then there was that underlying emotion Legolas instinctively knew was not his own, the source of his connection to the trees, the one he was rapidly learning to tap into on a voluntary level, rather than allowing it to overcome him, take him by surprise and make a fool of him, not to mention scare the living daylights out of those that accompanied him.

Now, that presence was humming with expectant joy, that was how he knew it was not himself, for Legolas was anxious, unsettled, and that was how he would remain for the rest of the day, until their camp was set and they rested for the evening.

Glorfindel had allowed two hearths to be lit, one for cooking and one for their own comfort. With only two days' ride separated them from the mountain fortress of Thranduil King, the trees spoke of safety, lulling them all into a sense of security that for the moment, Glorfindel seemed to accept.

Handir sat writing as he talked quietly with Mithrandir, and Elladan too, wrote in his own journal. He had found some plants that he had pressed inside the pages and was now busy documenting them. On the other side of the fire, Melven sat pensively and quietly as he stirred the stew he was preparing. He was almost always alone, and he had born it well enough. Now, however, so close to the end of their journey, Lindohtar approached and sat beside him.

"What are you preparing?" he asked.

Melven almost jumped again, his startled eyes meeting Lindohtar's blue eyes for a moment, before they turned back to the pot over the fire.

"Rabbit stew," he began, and then added as an afterthought, "I use white and orange roots when I can find them, and sage - and thyme if it is to be had. The herbs lend strength to the sauce."

Lindo bent over the bubbling pot and smelled the creation, closing his eyes against the rising steam and filling his lungs with the mouth-watering aromas.

"It smells good," he said sincerely.

"Thank you," replied Melven quietly.

"Melven," continued Lindo, sitting a little further back from the pot and watching the strange Noldorin warrior. "You have done well, we think. You have served quietly and obediently. You have done your share of the work and you have been diligent. We have seen no sign of antagonism towards Legolas and you have, sagely, kept yourself to yourself."

Melven watched Lindohtar as he spoke, the hint of hope in his light grey eyes, but he kept silent.

"We have not seen battle and for that alone we are unsure as to what we will say to Legolas, the opinion we will give him, but know this. If you are a good enough warrior, we will give you a chance, at least."

Melven's eyes were round and Lindohtar suddenly realised he was surprised, that he had thought they would reject him and send him back to Imladris in disgrace.

"You have nothing to say?" prompted Lindohtar.

Melven smiled sparingly, but the inkling of hope was still in his eyes. "I am grateful then, for the chance," he said. "I hope to ease your worries regarding my military skills in the Greenwood."

Lindo nodded and moved to rise, but Melven stopped him with his next words.

"Lindohtar," he called. "Don't get me wrong. My silence is not apathy. It is just me - it is the way I am, or so I have been told. I _want_ this," he said, "I want this more than you can know…."

Lindohtar held his gaze and saw the truth in his eyes but he himself was Silvan, and every thought that flitted through his mind was duly reflected upon his features, he willed it or no. He smiled and his eyes lost their severity. It was a Noldorin thing, perhaps, he mused, for Elladan too, was good at hiding his emotions.

"All right. When we are home, you shall have your chance, Noldo," he said cheekily and then nodded, and left to join the others.

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With only a day to reach the borders, and one further day before they would arrive at Thranduil's fortress, their journey was almost done, but Dimaethor was far too experienced to allow himself to relax, indeed he was sure they had already been seen by the guards. A quick glance over at Legolas confirmed his suspicions for the Silvan had pulled his ample hood up over his features. Funny, he mused; he had returned to the Greenwood so often after patrols, but this time, it was as if they journeyed into enemy territory. Legolas' long-awaited arrival would have garnered a whole array of emotions and intentions from the people of the Greenwood, ranging from euphoria to murderous intent. Meeting the border guard would be their first opportunity to observe their behaviour, their treatment of Legolas.

He looked over his shoulder first at Handir, and then Mithrandir and the rest of The Company around them. Everything was in order, but somehow, the Avari had managed to plunge himself into a spiral of troubled thoughts.

Legolas' features showed that he too, was troubled. There was a nervous unrest about him that had not been there before and he supposed he himself must look that way too, for Legolas reflected what he himself felt; anxiety, vulnerability, suspicion, apprehension.

He placed a hand on Glorfindel's vambrace, and with a poignant look, he fell back and joined the Silvan, under the intent stare of the Commander. Once their horses were abreast, he leaned towards him, and quietly asked, "what is it?"

Legolas shook his head. "I am unsure. There does not seem to be any immediate danger, not at least that the trees recognise as such and yet - and yet I am uneasy. You feel it too," he said confidently as he looked back at Dimaethor.

"Yes - I do, and I do not like it. Make sure The Company is alert, Legolas…"

He nodded, and then turned to the others as Dimaethor resumed his position beside Glorfindel and bowed his head to inform their commander.

No one had missed the movement of course, and mere seconds passed before they all sat straighter, their senses on full alert, hands subtly checking the readiness of their weapons.

After a while, Legolas approached Glorfindel and spoke quietly in his ear.

"These trees are strange - they are shifty, nervous. They say one thing and then another - they are strangely, distressed. Glorfindel, if I could just approach the tree line for a moment, I may be able to garner some information…"

The commander considered for a moment, before nodding. "Stay within eyesight, Legolas."

Handir and Mithrandir watched carefully as Legolas saluted, and then cantered towards the line of trees to their right and dismounted, his steed trailing behind him. Its intelligent brown eyes watched closely, as if it understood why the elf with the long, flowing mane placed a palm against the bark and bowed his head. After a few moments he moved to the next tree, and still nothing. It was the third tree though, that finally told Legolas what he had been dreading for the past few hours.

The horse neighed and whinnied and pranced from side to side but it did not flee, it's strange dance turning everyone's head to the sight none had wanted to see, for even from that distance, they could clearly see the beacon of blazing green energy that shone from Legolas' eyes.

Turning to his distant patrol, his head throbbing in pain, Legolas could do no more than signal where the danger came from, for the enemy would be upon them before he could return to them. His hands frantically signed how many there were, finally drawing a circle in the air with his index finger - they were surrounded.

Glorfindel's heart sank to his boots, and with his powerful battle voice, barked out his orders, but even as he did so, a thick black shaft whistled from the trees and then thudded, straight into the centre of its intended target and stunned silence fell over them all.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" shouted Legolas and Dimaethor simultaneously, and then watched in horror as the prince's horse pranced and then bolted towards Legolas' position with Handir atop it, half-heartedly struggling to remain aloft, but the closer he came to Legolas' position the more he leaned to one side, until he fell with a thud to the ground and the horse danced to one side.

" _Handir!_ " screamed Legolas as he sprinted the short distance that separated him from his brother's still form upon the ground, a thick, black shaft protruding from the centre of his chest, his tunic already soaked bright crimson.

Glorfindel and The Company, their faces still twisted in stunned horror, had made to follow but the enemy was already upon them, they could not move from where they were, for arrows were raining down on them.

"Go, Dima! Help them!" said Glorfindel urgently to the lieutenant at his side.

Dimaethor's deep blue eyes glinted, his only answer to the commander and Glorfindel watched him go, praying that between Legolas an the Avari, they would somehow, beyond all hope, be able to defend the fallen son of Thranduil, that if he was still alive…

Dimaethor thundered away, dismounting even as his horse still galloped, and then running to a halt beside Legolas, sparing a worried glance at Handir.

"Do not be distracted, Hwindo, he said, as the distant sounds of battle erupted. "We circle around him, protect him with our lives if it comes to that, but do not try to help him now," warned Dimaethor as he crouched low and waited for the first orcs to meet them.

"I will not fail," said Legolas, his voice steady and strong, his long spear now in his hand, twirling menacingly in his skilled hands as he moved it from one to the other.

"Steady, brother, steady," said Dima to Legolas. He was a lieutenant, and an experienced one and although he had fought with Legolas on various occasions, he had never seen him in a situation as stressful as this. A prince of the realm lay unconscious behind them, his _brother,_ and nothing but the two of them to keep him from Mandos against what were surely grim odds.

Legolas' eyes were still shining, lending him the fiercest mien Dimaethor had ever seen, and although beautiful, he rather thought Legolas was more terrifying to look on in that moment, than any orc he had ever confronted, and he was an Avari. It was no wonder then, that the orcs that ran towards them slowed to a halt before engaging, their roars of primal fear drawing the attention of friend and foe alike, their teeth barred as if they could somehow scare the green-eyed warrior away. They circled the two elves, reaching out as if to touch, to hit, but they pulled back as if burned and Legolas snarled, making even Dimaethor's skin crawl.

All it took was one of the larger orcs to rush forward and have its throat slit in return, for the spell to be broken and they lurched forward as one. Each with their own particular battle cry, hefted their weapons and stepped into the mass of black bodies.

Dima beheaded one with his sword and almost simultaneously slit the throat of another with the curved dagger in his other hand while Legolas distanced himself a little and whirled his mighty spear over his head, catching the first orc in the chest and swiping him aside with a sickening thud.

The clash of Dima's sword and the sound of heavy wood moving through air marked the onslaught of a fierce stand in which the Avari and the Silvan-Sinda fought the battle of their lives, and close by, The Company, together with Glorfindel, Mithrandir and Melven did likewise, but the distraction was great, for two of their brothers fought alone, defending their wounded prince who lay worryingly still behind them.

A thick black shaft sailed through the air, and then pierced Rhrawthir through the upper arm, jolting him painfully back to reality and throwing him to the ground. He was quickly on his feet and with a harsh grunt, he pulled out the arrow and smelled it, before throwing it to the ground and drawing his sword. Another arrow landed in the mud at Lindo's feet and he danced to the side lest the archer sight him again.

Ram en Ondo shoved the pommel of his sword into an orc's face and then side-stepped and beheaded another, while Melven worked his sword at his side, slashing and stabbing

Strangled shouting suddenly rang in their ears, it was Legolas' unmistakable voice. Something had happened, as they had known it would, for it had surely been inevitable ….

"No!" shouted Legolas as he struggled to push back the waves of goblins, while shouting, "stay down!" stay down, Dima!" "Dima?" he shouted, for he needed a response - but there was none. "Dima!" he tried again, but nothing.

It was all he could do to stop the enemy from overrunning them and so with a mighty cry of anger and frustration, fuelled now by despair, he hefted his spear aloft and began to move it around him, gaining some space so that he could, at least, look back and see what had happened.

He could not lose focus - he knew Handir had been hit but he had not been prepared for the sight that greeting him, for his brother lay still beneath the body of Dimaethor, who did not move, a hideous black arrow straight through his side.

"No!" he roared, before turning back to the fight and swiping two orcs to one side and then turning back. Handir's eyes were closed but he still drew breath, and so did Dima, but it was clear they had both been gravely wounded, that the Avari had thrown himself atop his prince in what may prove to have been a futile attempt to save his life.

Anger welled from the depths of his soul, so great it surged through his body and took over every conscious thought. With a bone-chilling scream, he wielded his spear faster than the orcs could follow, his movements precise and yet powerful, every blow a death stroke and the more he killed the less emotion he showed.

There was suddenly time to move, to do something other than cut down the wall of orcs that had assailed him.

He prayed that the horses would come closer, but they would not, for they pranced and neighed in panic further towards the tree line, surely on the brink of bolting. Yet to his utter shock, one steed broke away from the rest and galloped towards him.

He could not think on how that could be - he simply used the distraction to finish off those closest to him and then carefully, reverently, moved Dimaethor's body to one side. He had no time, no time to help him, to staunch the bleeding for if he did, he would lose the prince, and so with a strangled curse he turned his eyes to his brother, and finally saw the arrow that had pierced his chest. Pulling his brother up by the front of his bloodied tunic, he struggling desperately to get a firm hold on the lax body, he looked around frantically, desperately thinking of a way to get himself and his brother upon the horse, a grey mare that now looked at him as its nostrils flared, the same brown eyes that had witnessed Legolas' transformation now stared back at him.

If only it would kneel for him…

He could have cried when the animal folded its front legs, and then its back. It was all Legolas needed and he dragged Handir with him until he sat firmly in the saddle, his brother's limp body sagging against him. Wiping a trail of blood from his eye, he turned to where The Company were making their stand.

"Commander! …."

"Go! Get him out Legolas," shouted Glorfindel as he lunged forward and killed another.

"Dimaethor!" shouted Legolas in despair.

"I know! Go, Legolas, ride like the winds of November!" shouted Glorfindel and then turned to parry a vicious scimitar blow.

With one last anxious look at Dimaethor bleeding upon the ground, he kicked his mount, feeling the steed's muscles bunch below him, and as it began to gallop, piercing agony shot through his body as a thick bolt slammed into his shoulder, grating against his collar bone and wrenching a strangled scream from him.

The Silvan reached for the shaft and pulled it out with another shriek of pain, for he now knew they were laced with poison…

Trees rushed by but his eyes focussed on what was before him for he could not afford his steed to stumble and unbalance him, would not think of the fate of The Company, of Dimaethor left to bleed to death under the trees.

With one hand he held the reins and with the other he held his brother close to his chest. His shoulder screamed at him in pain as the broken bone was jarred, grating against the raw flesh of the hole the arrow had left. He would not think of it and so he concentrated his mind on his brother, on the path before him - nothing else could matter now - nothing at all.

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Glorfindel gasped as a blade narrowly missed his neck, before twisting to the side and beheading the orc that had nearly slit his throat. A cry of pain to his left told him another of the Company had taken an injury. This had to end and soon, or they would all be run down. He had not missed how Dimaethor had covered the prince as more arrows had converged upon them, had not missed Legolas' rage and fury, and then as he himself had been hit just as he had succeeded in getting the prince away.

Melven turned to the commander, his face for once reflecting the emotion behind his eyes, his jet black hair in disarray around him, grey eyes alight with the rush of the battle.

"Let me go after him, he will need someone to open the way, speak to the border guard - I can get to the horse and follow him!" he said urgently.

Glorfindel saw the light in those Noldorin eyes, saw the determination. He was the only warrior currently not engaged, the one closest to the horses.

"Go Melven. Do not disappoint me - see them safely home…" he did not shout, and yet his voice was as powerful as that of any war general.

Melven saluted his commander and sprinted towards the horses, strapping his weapons to his back as he ran. Vaulting onto the nearest horse, he charged away into the trees until the sickening noises of battle faded, and only the heavy thud of his own heart remained.

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Glorfindel had said they were one day from the border. That had been half a day ago and at the frantic pace he had set, Legolas calculated he would be a few hours away from the first border guards.

He would not stop, and should his horse falter, he would continue on foot, or confiscate a guard's horse. They were expendable, he himself was expendable, but Handir was not. He was a Prince, the King's son - nothing was more important. A nagging voice in the back of his mind added that Handir was his brother, a brother he had come to love, and as Yavanna was his witness he would deliver him - to whatever end.

And while Legolas concentrated his efforts on keeping his brother atop the mount and dominating the pain of his broken collar bone, Melven thundered desperately through the woods, half his body bent over his horse's head, arms pumping furiously as he worked the beast to its full speed.

Hang on, Legolas, I am coming…

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With a mighty groan of effort, Mithrandir turned and flung a small dagger straight at Rhrawthir, at least that is what Lindo thought, until he spotted the goblin behind the injured warrior, the blade catching it squarely between the eyes and shrieking.

It had been the last of the enemy and now, the Company, Mithrandir and Glorfindel stood hunched over, heaving for breath and grimacing in pain and exertion. It had been close, too close, but now was not the time to think on it, or to ponder the strange behaviour of the horses.

"Elladan go, take Lindohtar."

Elladan knew exactly what to do and in an instant he was sprinting towards where Dimaethor lay, Lindo hot on his heels.

Kneeling beside the fallen Avari, Elladan appraised him with his keen eyes, even as his fingers worked to unclasp the many fastenings that stood in his way to the wound in the lieutenant's side, the arrow still firmly embedded.

Lindohtar stood guard over him, weapons drawn and eyes moving everywhere lest there be stragglers amongst the bushes.

Behind him, Lindo could hear wood being cut, and from personal experience he knew what would follow, yet this time there would be no accompanying cry of pain, for Dimaethor was insensate and Elladan used that to his advantage. With one sure movement, the wooden shaft was pushed through until it was out and blood flowed freely, worrying in its abundance and color.

Linda turned his eyes back to Glorfindel, watching from afar as he organised the warriors, at the same time listening to the attention Elladan gave to his fallen brother behind, and soon enough, the warriors were together once more.

"Elladan," called Glorfindel urgently. "Report," he commanded.

"It is grave, Glorfindel. We must find the border patrol and ride him in, this poison will end up paralysing even his involuntary reflexes…." he said, turning his head for a moment to meet the commander's eyes.

Ram en Ondo cursed as the others closed their eyes and clenched their jaws in anxiety.

"Fashion a stretcher, we move now - Idhrenohtar, scout ahead, _find_ the border guard," he said pointedly.

"Aye Sir!" said the Wise Warrior with a salute, before sprinting away and then pulling himself aloft the trees.

Once Dimaethor had been placed upon the stretcher they had crafted, they began to walk behind their striding commander. _Damn it all_ , cursed Ram en Ondo - it would take them days to reach the fortress on foot. His eyes wandered to Rhawthir, who was already looking at him, the same thoughts whirling in his head, the same, naked fear for Dimaethor and the prince, and for Legolas, who Glorfindel said had been injured.

"They will make it, Ram en, have faith…" murmured Rhawthir, cradling his wounded arm close to his chest.

"Dima is strong, I do have faith, but Legolas will be injured and alone, in the fortress of The Greenwood, at the mercy of those that will surely recognise him…"

There was a silence then, born of sudden realisation that he was right. It was not only about making it back, it was about what would happen when he did, with no one to shield him, no one to protect him from those that would see him gone, save for a Noldo who they still did not know if they could trust.

"Did you see him fight, brother?" asked Lindohtar from behind. "Did you see Hwindo fight with his spears?" asked the Bard Warrior in awe.

"I did," said Ram en Ondo with a soft smile, "we _all_ did…"

With a little luck, Idhreno would find the border guard and get Dimaethor to the fortress. As for the rest of them, it would take them two days to walk back. All Legolas had to do was wait for them - two days.. that's all it would take.


	46. I am Silvan

Author's notes:

Once again, you have all left me speechless with the fantastic feedback. I thought to reward you will a slightly longer chapter with some well-deserved hurt/comfort. Legolas will also get his first glimpse of the king… This was hard to devise, and harder to write and I just hope the idea works, that you can clearly see that mental image I have of that moment.

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Noph: In-out-in-out - that's it! Glad the suspense worked for you. The strange behaviour of the trees is something Legolas will have to address with them, although there is a clue in the chapter referring to spiders! It was a bit of a cliffie, but this chapter should make up for that needless cruelty :)

Rita Orca: Congratulations! OK; breathe - eat :)) LOL Glad you liked it. Kill Handir and/or Lainion - umm…

LeggyRespect: I hope your fingers are still intact! OK, the trees were under the influence of the spiders, something Legolas will learn about the Greenwood - they are scared of them, but some are braver than others!

Ninde: Ai perdón! Espero que no se te haya cortado la circulación :))) ¿Yo? ¿Matar a alguien? Eh…..

GB12390: Thank you! As you can see I have been quick.

Amethyst: David Boals…. I can live with that!

Earthdragon: There will be an explanation as to what happened with the trees, and you re right, that poison has been sitting in Handir and Lainion for far too long…

Guest 1345: To NZ? oh lucky lucky lucky - have fun and tell us all about it :)

Narael: Thank you! I didn't make you wait too long, see? Glad you enjoyed the battle.

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Chapter forty-six: I am Silvan

' _Ride, Legolas, like the winds of November…'_

He could not tell how many hours had passed, but the light had gone and his muscles ached and his shoulder had become numb, a small mercy.

His brother remained completely still, the softest ghost of breath dusting over Legolas' forearm as it held his brother in place. There was poison at work, but he had not dared to remove the arrow, for to do that may mean the prince would bleed to death, yet leaving it lodged in his body meant it would be more difficult, with each passing hour, for him to recover from its toxicity. He could not stop, for to do so would mean certain death.

He tightened his arm around the lax body, securing his brother to himself, as if by doing so he could assure himself that nothing could happen to him, that Legolas' only connection with his real family would not fade away and leave him alone again, thrust him back into that strange void in which he had lived his entire life, and from which only now, was slowly emerging and opening his eyes to a reality that had been hidden from him.

A sudden thought came to him and in his addled state, it took a while for him to realise what it was. He was being followed, the trees told him it was so, but there was no danger. It was one of The Company. Yet Legolas still remembered the treachery of the trees in the glade where they had been assailed and wondered if he could trust them.

But the answer was already in his head. Yes, he could trust them, but the question remained, a question Legolas would need to address later - what had happened? Why had he not been told of the danger that lay before them?

It seemed mere minutes before the sun was once again rising and the land regained its colours. The distant gallop of hooves told him the warrior behind him was gaining ground. His body was half numb now, but he would not think of that - could not and he bolstered his concentration, gathered every bit of strength he still had inside him to block the pain, the exhaustion, the image of Dimaethor lying in a pool of blood.

Ride like the wind, Legolas, and do not stop until your brother is delivered…

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Glorfindel strode through the forest with Elladan and Mithrandir at his side. Rhawthir too was there for he was the most veteran of the Silvans, he was the best elf to guide them home. He walked with one hand tucked inside his belt to take some of the strain off his wound, the rest of The Company following in grim silence.

They had walked on through the night, and if Idhrenohtar had anything to do with it, they would continue on through the day - but Glorfindel had other plans as he turned to stop them.

"We will rest for fifteen minutes. Eat and drink, tend your wounds," he said curtly.

They sat and broke out their meagre supplies, chewing on broken way bread and squashed meat jerky. Elladan chewed on his own food as he moved to Rhrawthir and peeled away the bloodied bandage. Wetting a cloth with an antiseptic solution he carried in a canteen, he pressed it to the wound, eliciting a hiss of pain from the warrior.

"Keep it there for a while, Rhrawthir," he said, and then added, "are you fevered? nauseous?"

"No, yet I do not feel right, Rafno. The poison is a basic one I think - unpleasant but designed only to hamper, not kill."

"You know it then?" asked the healer as he worked.

"Yes, I believe I do," said Rhrawthir, and then grunted as Elladan tied the knot in the fresh bandage.

"Show me then, when we have time," said Elladan as he patted the warrior's shoulder and moved on.

Moving on to Ram en Ondo, he smeared a soothing cream over the nasty bruise on his face, and then wiped his fingers on a cloth, turning once more to see to Idhrenohtar.

"Elladan, take your rest," ordered Glorfindel, stopping any further attention Elrond's son would give; he needed his lieutenant.

"Are you all well?" asked Glorfindel from where he sat. All answered ' _aye_ ' and that was enough for the stern Commander, who signalled for them to continue their journey, and as they worked up their pace once more, Elladan looked down upon the pale face of Dimaethor. Rhrawthir had said he recognised the poison, had said it was a basic one, not a life-threatening one and that was just as well, but his worry did not fade; Elladan knew that arrow had been inside him for far too long.

Glorfindel watched Elladan, and then turned his mind inward, and to Legolas, to the way he had fought, how he had reached Handir, how the horses had aided him. He was proud of his adopted son, and sent a silent plea to the Valar. 'Protect him', he murmured to himself. 'Guide his path and do not claim Handir for your own…' He remembered then, who it was that followed - Melven. His stomach flipped for the Noldorin warrior was yet to prove himself in the commander's eyes; it had not been his choice to send him after Legolas, but it had been his only resource at the time. It was a make or break situation for him now. He would either become a member of the Company, or _they_ would send him to the very pits of Mordor.

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"Hwindo! Hwindo! came the frantic shouts from behind. Legolas' mind sharpened once more - Melven, it was Melven who followed him, and a wave of overwhelming relief crashed over him.

Before long, the Noldorin warrior was galloping beside him, watching him closely as their horses cantered on. His grey eyes saw the wound on Legolas' collar bone, blood covering his front. His face was bruised and bloodied, but he seemed alert enough as he continued to set a furious pace.

"Let me take him!" shouted Melven.

"No! The borders are ahead, we may reach the fortress before nightfall," he shouted back.

Melven wanted to protest, but there was something in the Silvan's eyes that stopped him; something fierce and forbidding, something wildly protective and Melven, intelligent that he was, shut his mouth and kept a close eye on the road ahead.

"I will ride forward and meet the border guard, warn them so that they let you pass.."

"Good! Yes! Go, Melven. Prepare the way for me…" he shouted back and for the first time, Melven could hear the pain, the exhaustion and the effort it was taking the Silvan to keep himself and his brother aloft.

With a nod that was as much compliance as it was respect, he galloped forward in a rush of black hair and grey, billowing cloak, until he was but a speck on Legolas' horizon.

Some time later, Melven was closer than he had been and Legolas assumed he must have stopped to speak to the border guard. Sure enough off to one side stood two Silvan guards watching him as he thundered by, saluting him as he passed, for he carried their prince.

No sooner had Legolas passed and the guards swung into the trees, passing the news on to the rest of the patrol; Prince Handir was gravely injured, they whispered, but little did they know who it was that brought him home…

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" _Open the gates! Open the gates!_ " screamed Melven from a distance as he galloped over the last few lengths before the mighty walls of the fortress, his voice carrying powerfully.

"Open them! _Healers_ , to Prince Handir!" he screamed again.

The gates grated and screeched and soon enough, the massive stone and wood panels began to open inwards, just in time for him to thunder through and bring his horse to a halt in a cloud of dust.

"Prince Handir!" he gasped as he doubled over on his horse, vaguely aware that elves in green robes were running towards him.

"Prince Handir is gravely wounded, he rides behind me…" he managed to enunciate in spite of his heaving chest.

"Who are you?" came the authoritative voice of the Gate guard.

"Melven - Hadorion of Imladris. I ride - with Prince Handir's escort. There has been an ambush, we have ridden ahead in light of - his grave injury."

"What has happened!" shouted a healer.

"An arrow, a poisoned bolt through the chest…"

The other healers gasped and the one that seemed to be in charge, his face a mask of stern strength, began to bark out his commands, watching as they rushed away to do his bidding, but three of them remained to wait at his side. Meanwhile, the gate guard rushed into the fortress, in search of the duty commander, his face drawn into a tight scowl at the grave news he must now convey, news that would set the fortress into a frenzy of activity.

"Dismount warrior," said the head healer.

Melven wanted to laugh, for the thought had already occurred to him but his body was so tired, so stiff he was unsure of whether he would be able to keep himself upright. Steeling himself he nodded tiredly and slid himself to the ground, swaying for a moment before he could right himself.

"Are you alright?" asked the stern healer, his piercing hazel eyes boring into his own grey irises.

"Just tired, healer. The - the warrior that bears the prince is also wounded…"

The healer placed a calming hand on Melven's shoulder and then patted it. "We will take care of our warrior, Hadorion. Come inside when you can - you are welcome here in the Greenwood," he said, his words kind but his face completely blank. Melven supposed it was a master healer thing, for Elrond was much the same in situations such as these, and so he turned and waited together with the healers for Legolas to arrive, his breathing slowly coming under control.

He was vaguely aware that the fortress had lit up, and where before there had been calm darkness, now, there was the blazing light of a thousand candles, and the din of warriors as they converged, kitting out as they strode to the stables. They would leave to patrol the area, no doubt, ensure there were no stray orcs to threaten the immediate vicinity, and perhaps to escort the rest of his broken escort back to safety.

Before long, thundering hooves became louder and louder, and the preparations going on around him momentarily halted as all heads turned to the partially opened gates. A lone horse sped through and slowly ground to a halt before the group of elves that stood by. The horse struggled to breath, its flanks heaving as white foam slipped from its dusty sides, its sounds of distress telling the eloquent story of its service to the kingdom.

Two stable hands rushed forwards and held the beast's head in their hands, trying to calm him, but before they could do anything else, the horse's legs buckled and it sat strangely upon the ground. The beast had been driven almost to the point of extenuation.

The hooded warrior behind the lax body spoke then, soft and a little too slow.

"He has been shot with a poisoned arrow - it, seems to have paralysed him in some way," slurred Legolas.

The healer muttered something to another at his side, before pulling the body away from Legolas and rushing him inside, leaving Melven and a still breathless Legolas alone for a moment with the two young stable hands.

"Will you care for him, lad? Can you fix him?" asked Hwindo.

The boy looked up and then cocked his head to the side, trying and failing to see the face inside the hood.

"I will try, warrior," said the boy softly. He seemed dazed for a moment, but he soon snapped out of it as more healers approached and waited for the hooded warrior to dismount.

Turning, Legolas observed them for a moment, knowing he should dismount this extraordinary steed, but it took him a while to to get his muscles to obey him. They seemed to understand though, for they did not approach and finally, one long leg slipped over the saddle and he was slowly standing. He could not walk yet though, and he took a moment to compose himself.

It was enough for the healers though, who moved forward and took the hooded warrior by the arm.

He bit back a cry of agony as the bones scraped together and the healer drew back in alarm. Taking him by the other arm, they were soon entering the halls of healing which were conveniently placed next to the great gates.

Melven's duty truly began here, he knew, for Legolas' wounds would need tending, and to tend him, his cloak must be shed and so, with a deep breath, he walked on Legolas' other side and placed one, steadying hand at the small of his back. ' _I am here, I have your back._ '

Legolas understood the silent message and turned to face the Noldo. He knew Melven could not see him, just as he knew he would understood the silent thanks he gave to the warrior that was slowly gaining his trust.

The stone building looked much larger on the inside than it did from outside. A wide central aisle led off to other, open areas where patients lay abed. There was one oddity though, and that was that there were no doors, only doorways. This was a setback, realised Melven, for should they gain the trust of the healers, it would be difficult to hide here.

They had taken the prince into one of these doorless rooms and a flurry of activity had erupted around the bed upon which Handir lay. Legolas' eyes lingered there for a moment, before turning back to the fore and following the two healers that led them further into the depths of this, singular building.

Soon enough, Legolas was guided to a stone table, and one healer reached up to the hood of the cloak.

Melven, quickly checking the doorway, rushed over to Legolas, his hand shooting out to intercept the healer before he could reveal the face of his patient.

"Wait," he said simply, and the healer met the grey eyes in indignant surprise.

"Release me," he said. "I cannot treat him like this," he explained then. The female healer that stood beside him watched the exchange in trepidation, but remained silent, for the truth was that Melven's exotic features were stern indeed.

The Noldo slowly released the healer's hand, hoping that his message had been conveyed, but there was nothing else for it; he would have to wait and observe, and should either healer attempt to leave the room he would confront them. They looked Silvan, though, he mused, and for some reason he was glad for that. He had heard the rumours, had listened to The Company as they had discussed the Greenwood situation on the road and although he was by no means an expert, he knew enough to hope they would be sympathetic to the Silvan, should they even recognise him that is.

The chestnut haired healer he had heard the other call Danir, reached up once more for the hood, slower this time, and when he finally revealed the elf below, he looked down blankly at the top of his head, his silver-blond pony tale of thick, twisted hair, sitting atop the long braided hair that was lost behind his back.

He frowned minutely, but before his eyes could continue their inspection, the bowed head rose, and crystal clear green irises stared back at the healer.

Danir gasped and stepped backwards, and the female healer at his side covered her own mouth in shock.

Melven straightened his stance, his hand moving to rest on the pommel of his sword as his eyes poised on the healers, on the slightest change in their expressions that would but hint at any intention of giving them away.

But there was none, and Danir stepped forward once more, untying the cloak and allowing it to slip off the warrior's shoulder. With the help of his colleague, they unbuckled and unlaced, and then slipped the leather and linen from the warrior's body until it was stripped bare, only his breeches and boots still in place.

Melven watched them as they worked. It was strange, he mused, for their movements were slow and kind, reverent almost. Nothing at all like the cold, clinical hands of the Noldorin healers of Imladris. He was mesmerised by it.

The female allowed a finger to ghost over the two metal bands sitting over the strong bicep, before Danir cast her a disapproving glance, and then gestured to the tangle of loose and braided hair. She almost jumped, before moving behind Legolas and gathering the hair together, and then weaving one, thick braid which she tied off to one side, away from the wound on his shoulder.

Danir wet a cloth in a foul-smelling solution which sat in a bowl beside him, and then began to wash away the blood that impeded his vision of the wound.

"What is your name, warrior," he asked as he worked.

Legolas seemed absent, for his eyes were half-lidded and his head held a little too low, as if it cost him to keep it aloft.

"Hwindohtar," came the equally soft reply.

Danir lifted an eyebrow at that. "Is there any family member you wish for us to send for?" he asked as he rinsed out the cloth and applied it once more.

"Not here, no. They live in the forest," he answered.

"You are not Sindarin?" asked the healer in surprise, momentarily looking into the face of his patient, his frown deepening.

"Silvan," he said simply, and then added, "and Sindarin."

Danir's eyes floated to the twin arm bands and then back to the face and suddenly, the frown was gone, a new light in his eyes and Melven tensed.

He knew….

The healer's eyes flitted over Melven's and the Noldo's eyes hardened; there was a warning in them, one the silvan healer seemed to understand perfectly.

He turned back to his patient, the wound now revealed and he leaned in to closer inspect it. Prodding around the area, Legolas' face folded in pain and he bit back a moan of misery.

"The bone is fractured," he murmured. "Llyniel, find a brace for me," he muttered. The woman nodded and hurried away, and then Danir met Legolas' knowing eyes.

"You are the Silvan?" he asked quietly, his face showing his worry, his trepidation and just a hint of insecurity.

Legolas stared back at him, slanted green eyes sparkling in intelligence. "Yes," he whispered back. "Are you well with this?" he asked, his gaze heavy, full of meaning for there had been more to his question, and Danir did not seem to doubt that.

The healer's worried, apprehensive expression slowly turned upwards, his hazel eyes sparkling and his mouth curving until he smiled beautifully, both hands now on Legolas' strong shoulders.

"I am Danir, Silvan healer from Greybark, and I am at your service, my Lord," he whispered. With one quick glance at Melven, the healer nodded and then set to work once more, a stunned Llyniel standing in the doorway.

"Llyniel, keep your mouth shut," said Danir forcefully, yet there was something in his tone that spoke of friendship between them. She nodded at his back as she approached, passing Danir a fresh cloth, but as she turned, she suddenly moved in and kissed Legolas soundly on the cheek, grinning saucily before turning away to busy herself.

Legolas was snapped from his exhausted stupor and his eyes followed the healer for a moment before turning back to Danir, a delightfully boyish blush on his face as he smiled bashfully.

Melven watched him with a smile of his own, the kind of smile that had not graced his face for decades for this fierce, extraordinary warrior he had come to know, had suddenly turned into a blushing adolescent, it had been only a few seconds, but it had been a window, a fleeting blessed glance at the purity of one still so young, and yet so inexplicably burdened with the expectations of others. How had he ever thought to antagonise him? he mused in sudden confusion, and then shame at himself.

An overwhelming sense of belonging hit Melven with a force that knocked his balance for a moment, drawing Danir's attention to him.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he worked.

"Yes. Just tired," he answered. "I will rest when he does, if it is safe to do so," he said.

"We will make it safe," said Danir as he tightened a bandage and then reached for the loose white shirt that Llyniel handed him. Widening the neck, he slipped it over the bare torso and pulled it down, and then fashioned a sling in which he carefully placed Legolas' arm and then shortened it so that the forearm lay flat against his chest.

"It will take a few days for the bones to knit. Don't move this, else it will knit oddly and _you_ , are an archer," he emphasised.

Legolas nodded his understanding. "Danir. Can you bring news of Prince Handir's condition?"

"Of course. As soon as I am finished here. You need food and rest, Hwindohtar, and you too, Melven. How long do you need?" he asked.

"Until the rest of my party arrive, Danir. I will be safe once they are here. Two days, unless the patrols find them sooner and escort them in. There is one who is gravely wounded - Dimaethor - I am sure they will ride him in before - I would know of his arrival too."

"You will know. For now, hot water for bathing and a little help with - with this - he pointed at the mass of hair that was tangled and splattered with blood. I am sure Llyniel will be of assistance," he said drolly and Melven's eyebrow rose at the healer's sarcastic sense of humour.

"I will leave you then, for I see you are well guarded," he said with a sideways glance at Melven. He turned to leave but stopped abruptly and then turned back to face Legolas, who still sat upon the stone bench.

"It is a great honour - my Lord - to serve you," said Danir, suddenly seeming much younger than he had before, more vulnerable.

Legolas turned his eyes to the healer and smiled sparingly. "And what have I done to deserve such treatment from you, healer?" he asked challengingly, and Melven knew this was the one thing that Legolas would have difficulty understanding.

The healer seemed to surprise him then, for he smiled and Legolas scowled. "Done? You saved Saroden's children from the flames, you are a listener, you were a Master Archer even before your first patrol, you are our king's son, our _Silvan_ prince," he finished softly with a smile, and then a bow. He promptly left with a smiling Llyniel in tow and Melven moved to face the stunned Silvan.

"What have you been up to, child?" he asked with a smirk on his face.

Legolas locked eyes with Melven and then blew out a mighty breath. "How did he know all that…? he breathed in disbelief.

"You Silvans are bigger gossips than the Noldor ever were," he smiled. "Here," he said, holding out his arm for Legolas to hoist himself up.

Guiding him to the small cot next to a tiny window that looked out over the courtyard, Legolas sat slowly and winced at the increasing pain in his shoulder.

"You need to do something with this…." he said with a tut, his hand arranging the long, dirty plait that hung in Legolas' lap.

Legolas watched him as he fussed and although tired, bone weary, his smile spread and he spoke quietly into Melven's ear.

"I was not wrong about you. You have proved your metal, Melven - _Glamohtar_ …" he whispered fiercely and Melven abruptly pulled back, his stare wild and wide.

"Glamohtar…" he repeated numbly.

Legolas smiled and his eyes danced with mischief. "You have the voice of a demon of Morgoth when you put your mind to it - you are the Screaming Warrior."

Wide, disbelieving eyes stared back at Hwindohtar until Melven's face broke into a wide, heart-felt smile for the first time since Legolas had known him, yet he said nothing, and Legolas suspected he knew why.

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Some time later, the two warriors lay sprawled upon the simple cot, dozing but not sleeping, for there were no doors here and although Danir had been adamant they were in no danger, neither of them were willing to risk it.

Llyniel was back and had soon filled a tub with steaming water. Opening a variety of bottles that stood upon a nearby shelf, she smelled them and then trickled a little liquid into the water, until the entire room smelled of lavender and jasmine.

Melven tiredly stood and pulled Legolas up with him. "You first, I will guard the door," he said, and then turned to take up guard.

Behind him, Legolas walked towards the tub, well aware that he could not undress himself with only one arm. He was not embarrassed though, for that was not the Silvan way. Indeed Llyniel was nothing if not professional as she removed his clothing, leaving him naked save for the sling in which his arm sat. She would change that later.

Legolas slid into the hot water and closed his eyes, breathing in the heady scents that finally took away the stench of enemy blood and guts.

He felt deft fingers unravel his plaits and the water as it soaked his hair. He felt the strong fingers massage his scalp and the scent of mint as it cleansed him and he finally allowed himself to relax, if only a little.

His body began to slow down and sleep was slowly gaining on him as he felt his body washed clean, the scrapes and bruises acquired in battle cleansed and treated as the water washed away his aches and pains and for one, blessed instant, everything was right, his mind blissfully empty.

It was a fleeting moment as he knew it would be, but it had been enough to anchor him, bring him back to reality with a refreshed sense of purpose and he opened his eyes.

Soon, he was dry and in clean breeches, and he padded over to the cot once more, glancing out of the small window to check the time - it was surely past the midnight hour, he realised, and then turned to Melven.

"Bathe, Melven, I will eat and watch," he said and Melven held his gaze for a moment. If anything should happen he did not want to be caught naked in a tub.

"No. I will wash and eat but I will not bathe, not until I know we are safe," he said. Legolas wanted to insist, but he saw that stubborn look upon the Noldo's face, one he had come to recognise. There would be no changing Melven Hadorion's mind and so he sat and ate his food, trying desperately not to think of Handir and Dimaethor, lest it turn his stomach.

"I wonder how The Company fares…." said Melven at that precise instant as he washed himself.

Legolas remained silent, but the glint in his eye and the pulse of his jaw told Melven everything he needed to know.

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Later that night, Legolas rose from the cot and drew his long cloak around him, flipping the ample hood over his face and tucking away his hair. He felt sluggish and weak, but there was no turning him from his purpose now.

"I am going to see Handir," he whispered to Melven, who dozed beside him.

"I am coming with you," he said - it was not a question.

"No, stay. Alone I will be able to slip in unnoticed. Handir is four doors down to the right. I will be ten minutes, no more."

Melven nodded, unconvinced at the wisdom of it, but Legolas had a point and so he stayed by the door with no door, poking his head around the wall and watching as Legolas padded silently along the aisle, bootless and cloaked once more.

The noise from before had died down to barely nothing. The odd murmur here and there, the clink of glass, the scrape of a chair.

He was at the door he thought led to Handir's bed and so he carefully leaned around the wooden door frame and peered inside. His eyes immediately latched on to the elf in a large bed, his face as white as the sheets he lay upon.

He looked dreadful, but he was alive, his chest moving rhythmically up and down.

Creeping inside, he moved silently to the bed and looked down at the face that resembled his own.

His hair had been carefully arranged around him, freshly washed and brushed and he smiled.

Carefully, he sat on the side of the bed and lay his hand on his brother's naked shoulder.

"Handir," he called softly. "Can you hear me, Handir?" he whispered, but there was no answer and he sighed softly in defeat. His brother was deeply asleep.

A rustling on the other side of the bed startled Legolas and he visibly jumped, and then partially stifled the groan that escaped him as his collar bone moved. Someone had been sitting on the other side of the bed, in a chair shrouded in shadow - until now - and the figure that occupied it slowly leant forward until his face and loose hair moved into the light, and Legolas' world suddenly narrowed to that one spot, his eyes and his mind, his hearing and his sense of smell all trained involuntarily upon the face that stared back at him.

Legolas' heart dropped to the soles of his feet and his breath would not come. His eyes trembled, as if overloaded, overwhelmed by the rush of detail, each clambering for his attention and a strange paralysis took him. He could not think, could do nothing but stare and hope that his mind would eventually work itself out and begin to order his tumultuous mind.

It was him and yet it was not. This was the elf Legolas had despised all his life; the elf that had abandoned him, the elf that had created him for the purpose of perpetuating another, as if he himself had never been a part of the plan. This was the elf that had used him selfishly, so that his own heart would not break, so that he would not fade. This was the elf that reminded him of that, unwanted, Sindarin streak in him, the one he still could not come to terms with because it represented his _father_ , a father he did not understand, a father he rejected deep down inside himself and yet did not want to.

How could an elf that inspired in him such negativity, be so confoundedly, stunningly - beautiful?

"You brought him back, warrior?" came the gentle, rich baritone voice of King Thranduil.

His mouth opened, knowing instinctively that he should speak, but what to say! How to say it without giving himself away, giving away his stupor?

"Yes, my Lord," said Legolas softly, his mind frozen almost in alarm, fear for what the king would say now, if he would order him to remove his hood… such muddled thoughts but he could not cope with the onslaught. He felt a sudden wave of panic at his own inability to react.

"Then you have my thanks, warrior," said the king calmly, sadly almost.

"It was an honour, my Lord," replied Legolas so softly it was almost a whisper and again he waited in trepidation, his entire body poised to flee, muscled bunched painfully and sending pulses of deep pain down his left arm.

"What is your name?" came the dreaded question and Legolas closed his eyes under his hood.

"Hwindohtar," he said, hoping against hope the king would not ask for his surname, that his warrior name would be enough.

There was a prolonged silence before the king spoke again, one that seemed an eternity to Legolas.

"Well then, Hwindohtar. You have served with honour, he said, and then slowly sat back, the incomprehensible beauty fading into the shadows once more, leaving behind but the sparkle of bright eyes to remind Legolas that he had, indeed, been there - it had not been a vision.

Legolas stood somewhat stiffly, feeling the heavy weight of the king's gaze upon him even now. He bowed, and with a simple "by your leave," he left the room as slowly as he could manage and when he was in the aisle, making his way back to his room still he did not look back, dared not. When he finally reached his room he walked straight to the other side and then stopped, eyes cast to the floor and finally allowing his lungs to heave in the air he had starved them of.

Melven approached him in alarm.

"Hwindo?" he called, but there was no answer, and he set a calming hand upon the Silvan's shoulder.

"I - I have just met him…" he said, still stunned almost speechless.

"Met who?" asked Melven in mounting realisation.

"The king - I just met the king."


	47. I Wished

Author's notes:

There are no words to express how grateful I am to you all for the overwhelming encouragement. Those of you who never fail to review, and those of you that pop in from time to time - you are all wonderful, and you have me so motivated I simply cannot stop writing.

Here is the chapter you have all been waiting for. The pressure really was on because there were so many ways to write this. I wanted their meeting to be realistic, not just a simple hug and a few tears - I don't think it would happen that way at all and that is what I have tried to convey here. It did, however, turn out to be a very long scene - so long I could not cut it - I mean I could have but I am sure I would not have lived to see another day :))

Also, the read will be more rewarding if you read the father - son scene slowly and pay attention to punctuation, it will illustrate how they speak to each other and hence, how they feel when they do. It will paint a much more detailed picture.

So here is the longest chapter in this story, 'I wished…'

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But first…

Cold Outside: well done! Many of you suspected that Thranduil knew who Legolas was, and your answer lies below. This was deliberate. As Naledi pointed out, it was neither the time nor the place - and it was obvious that Legolas did not want to be recognised.

Noph: Yup, that was Cold Outside's investigative skills :) Please read on and see why Thranduil did not react openly. Glad you liked the saucy Llyniel.

LeggyRespect: Am I encouraged? I am writing obsessively thanks to you guys - I seriously cannot stop - Thranduil's reaction is explained below and I am glad that meeting worked for you. It was the only way I could figure out how to deal with two elves' feelings with only one possible POV at the same time! By having one who has already seen, I can POV the the other who has not.

Guest: You read the whole story in one sitting? Just curious, but how long did THAT take? Thanks for commenting :))

Guest: thank you!

GB12390: Thank you, my friend!

Lara: the best? gulp! It's funny that you would be hooked after that first chapter - Pea Soup- I think it is very hard to guess what sort of story it would turn out to be from that prologue…. BTW - don't forget that prologue…. it is important for reasons we will see later on. Thank you so so much for the kind words. Gracias de corazón, amiga.

Violet: Legolas will definitely be telling the trees off! Glad you liked the meeting :)

Rita Orca: Glad you like Danir - he will get on well with Elladan - hint hint… Yes, it's Glamohtar, the Screaming Warrior, glad you like him too :))

Guest 1345: Thanks! How's NZ?

Earthdragon: Thank you my friend. Glad you like Melven, he has certainly come a long way, hasn't he?

Narael: Glad you like Melven. You're right about Thranduil, but keep reading for a better explanation. Your English is fine, my friend.

Ninde: Es un placer - como siempre.

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Chapter forty-seven: I Wished…

Legolas dozed fitfully, for sleep would not come. He was too nervous, felt too vulnerable, and he was still stunned at the chance meeting with his father.

The extraordinary face floated behind his mind's eye. The finely chiselled features, the strong brows and noble nose, the curved lips so like his own and the perfect, porcelain skin that shone with a brilliance few elves could boast. His hair was almost silver, lighter even than his own and the sum of it was was nothing short of breath-taking. This was the father he had rejected all his life, the one he had hated, and then had come to think of with cold indifference.

He was Sindarin, there could be no denying it, for features aside, it was his bearing, his expression. The deep blue eyes held long wisdom, the set of his jaw spoke of pride and authority and Legolas rather thought that in times of peace he would be lovely, and coveted, but in times of battle, he would be terrifying to behold.

It was not what he had been expecting - but then what _had_ he expected? he asked himself. Had he even stopped to think about it?

He heaved an irritated sigh and sat up with a quiet groan, so as not to wake Melven who dozed beside him. It was the dead of night and his restlessness took him to the small window on the other side of the room.

The moon was full and cast a soft blue haze over the courtyard beyond and he suddenly wanted to be there, outside, feel her soft caress upon his skin, sooth his chaotic mind so that he could once more think straight, put some order to the mess of thoughts and emotions that would not cease to plead for his attention.

With one last look at Melven, he floated from the room, wrapping his cloak clumsily around himself and flipping the hood over his head.

Soon he was outside, perched upon a stone bench that sat in a quiet corner and although he was surrounded by stone, the view of the sky was unhindered and he tilted his head back. His skin felt the blue light, absorbed it; he seemed to flare in joy at its touch, and in spite of his conflicting emotions, the bone-deep anxiety that gnawed at his gut, he smiled softly.

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Thranduil sat in his study, but today he did not sit at his paper-strewn desk where he would normally be found; he sat upon the window bank, one knee folded under his chin with his other leg left to anchor him to the stone floor below.

He looked so young, mused Aradan from the door, vulnerable even, an adjective he would never have thought to use with the king and yet it was the truth. There was a melancholic air about him this morning and the advisor knew he would not have slept, not with Handir so sorely injured.

"Good morning, my Lord," he said with a bow that went unnoticed and Aradan did not insist, rather he turned to the table and sat before it, waiting for Thranduil to acknowledge his presence.

Soon enough the king turned silently and rose, gliding over to the table and catching the advisor's eye.

"He is here," he said quietly.

"Handir, yes," said Aradan with a frown, wondering why the king would state such an obvious thing.

"Legolas, Legolas is here," rectified the king, watching as the news sunk in and Aradan's eyes widened in shock.

"What? Why didn't you tell me! My Lord I…"

"Peace, Aradan," came the king's voice. "It was a chance meeting in which his identity went - unaddressed."

There was a silence, in which Aradan desperately struggled to understand what had happened, what his friend was talking about.

"He was the warrior who brought Handir back. He visited his sick bed when he thought there was no one there," he explained, watching as Aradan's face remained as confused as before.

"He was cloaked and hooded, Aradan. I could not see him but I knew him all the same."

Aradan was silent, his face now blank.

"He knew who I was of course but he did not reveal himself, Aradan. He used a nickname, thinking I would not know of it, and I did not want to antagonise him, not there. It was neither the time nor the place for such meetings…" he trailed off and Aradan watched him closely, knowing he had not finished.

A maid momentarily interrupted them as she set a tray of tea upon the king's table, curtseyed and then left.

It took a while for the king to speak once more but when he did, Aradan startled, for it was so soft, so distant.

"His hands are strong and caring, his hair is the colour of the snow pumas of the Northern Evergreen wood, his voice deep and soft…"

There was a yearning in the king's voice that tugged at Aradan's heart, for that sadness he had noted no sooner he had arrived was still there, had not dissipated in spite of the arrival of his son.

"Are you not happy then, my Lord?" he asked rhetorically.

"Happy?" he asked, as if surprised at the question. "No, not happy, Aradan. How can I be when I cannot embrace my own son openly? How can I when I see him flinch at my presence. He did, you know. When he realised who it was who sat in the shadows he froze, like a hunted rabbit."

"I understand his anxiety, Thranduil. It does not mean he will reject you," said Aradan carefully as he poured their tea and set a cup before the king.

"What will you do?" he asked as he sat back and stirred his tea.

The piercing blue eyes settled on Aradan and the advisor could see the change in his features now. He had steeled himself, snapped his introspective mood and made a decision.

"I will seek him out. I do not wish to antagonise him, Aradan. I want him to see I will not push him into something he does not want, unless it will endanger him. I must try to make him see my intentions are good ones."

He paused here, turning for a moment and brushing down his hair in an uncharacteristic show of apprehension.

"I will visit Handir, and then I will find him and speak to him alone, before everything spirals out of control and any chance of gaining his confidence is lost."

"Your presence in the healing halls will not go unnoticed, Thranduil. You will have no privacy there," said Aradan.

"It will go unnoticed," he said resolutely. "Send for Galion, Aradan, and have Dorhinen ready to accompany me in thirty minutes."

"Thranduil, are you sure this is the best…"

"I am sure, Aradan. If I summon him here, I am his king and as such I must act. I wish to meet him first as a father."

Aradan looked into Thranduil's deep blue eyes, saw the determination, the desire to do things right with his son but he could not help but wonder if he was opening the door to his own heartbreak, that by offering the child this moment of equality, Legolas would turn on him. But he could not say that. He would be overstepping his boundaries as an advisor, and there was no mistaking Thranduil's confidence in that his tactic was the right one.

"I wish you luck, my friend," he said softly with a smile which was returned by the king, "enjoy the moment, if you can…" and then the advisor left, in search of Galion and Dorhinen, his critical mind wading through all the possible scenarios and all of them, without exception, were as complicated as they were unpredictable.

Truth be told it was not only about all that would begin this day, it was his own unbearable curiosity to meet the elf that had turned Greenwood inside out, that had the power, if he so wished, to return their land to what it had once been, and with it, restore her powerful monarch in all his Sindarin glory.

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' _Enjoy the moment, if you can…'_

Yet in truth he felt sick to the stomach. He would see his face, watch him speak, move - he would see Lassiel again…" he abruptly turned to the window once more, composing himself for what he had to do now would require all his skill, all his control. He would dress simply, hide his features and get himself to the Healing Halls. He would end this unbearable misery, confront these fears, his uncertainty. If Legolas was to reject him then so be it, there were still political decisions to be made, decisions in which Legolas would participate, in spite of their personal relationship, or lack thereof. But if there was any chance, the slightest hope of a future together as family, Thranduil would seize it and nurture it, redeem himself if he could, not for love of Lassiel -that mistake he had already made. He would do it for Legolas.

Galion arrived then, together with the imposing figure of Dorhinen.

"Galion, Dorhinen. What I have to say now is of the utmost secrecy and must not be discussed outside this room, to anyone," he began, watching as the two elves nodded their understanding.

"Galion, find me some simple, civilian attire and a cloak that will sufficiently cover my identity. Dorhinen," he said, turning to the imposing Sindarin lieutenant, you have been briefed?" he asked expectantly.

"I have, my King. I am to guard your son Legolas until such time that any potential danger passes."

"Have you been told nothing else?" he asked, his eyes searching the blank features of the Sinda.

"I know he is called the Silvan, I know he is a Master Archer - that is the sum of it, my King."

"And how do you feel about this duty, Dorhinen?"

"I am honoured to carry out your bidding, my king."

Thranduil trusted this guard implicitly, for he had been his own fathers body guard for many centuries, had been with him when he had fallen. Dorhinen had suffered terrible guilt for centuries more, chastising and berating himself for not having protected his beloved king, indeed since then he had never taken up a similar post, preferring instead to serve in the southernmost patrols.

"I know you are loyal, Dorhinen, but I asked you how you _feel_ ," he emphasised, and then waited for the stern warrior to reply.

"I am, _surprised_ , my King, surprised that you would trust me with the protection of your child."

"Then you should be pleasantly surprised, Dorhinen. I never blamed you for the fall of my father - I trust you implicitly, and - I need you to remember - that the danger may come from _within_. There may be factions amongst the Sindar, your own people, that would seek to harm him."

"That will not stay my hand, my King," said the blue-eyed Sinda with golden hair.

He was cold and reserved, an elf of few words and no outward emotions, but Thranduil had known the depths of his love for the first King of Greenwood, his desolation when he had fallen.

"Dorhinen. The child is here, in the Halls of Healing. We go there now, undercover. I need you to guard us while we speak."

Dorhinen turned his eyes to the king. "Why not here, my King? it is surely safer."

"I beg to differ, Dorhinen," was all the king said, before leaving to change, under the puzzled and curious gaze of the Sindarin guard.

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Legolas awoke with a groan of pain for in his sleep he had turned onto his bad side.

"Here," said a deep voice from beside his bed. Melven.

"Have you slept at all?" asked Legolas tiredly as he sat up and accepted the mug of hot tea, his hand rubbing at the throbbing bruise on his face.

"No," was all Melven said and Legolas snorted at the Noldorin warrior. I should have named _you_ Dimaethor, for you are as Silent as a tomb, my friend."

No sooner had he said it and his stomach flipped. Dimaethor could be dead, he remembered, the Avari's pale face coming back to him, bleeding upon the floor.

His dark thoughts were cut off by the arrival of Danir, the Silvan healer that had tended to him the night before.

With a smile and a nod, he walked over to the bed, his eyes assessing his patient as he approached.

"How is that shoulder?" he pointed, waiting for Legolas to deposit his tea on the side table.

"A little sore," he admitted, and Danir tutted as he rolled his eyes. "Warriors!" he exclaimed as he pulled back the loose shirt and inspected the bandages. "Drink your tea and then I will change these," he said with a practised voice of authority.

"How is Prince Handir, Danir?" asked Legolas, watching the healer carefully to discern the truth of his words.

"He awoke not minutes ago. Master Nestaron says he will recover."

Legolas visibly sagged, a rush of air leaving him somewhat palid. "Thank the Valar," he breathed.

"Have a care, Hwindohtar," warned Danir. "It is rumoured your escort is but a days' ride away. It seems our warriors have intercepted your group and are riding in with the wounded. These halls may be busy later this evening."

"Is there anywhere private? A room with a _door?_ " he emphasized.

"No, only the Master Healer's office, but Nestaron is Sindarin, and I am unsure as to his reception of you, Hwindohtar."

"Then we will just have to stay here. If the group arrives this evening, then that is all I need," he said, and then added, "do they - do they mention any deaths?"

"No, only wounded, but this is the report of a warrior, not a healer. We must wait."

"Of course," said Legolas, as Dimaethor's face came to his mind's eye once more.

Before long, Legolas was dressed simply in his breeches and boots, and a shirt that marked him as a patient of the Healing Halls. His uniform had been stained and taken away for cleaning no doubt. Only his long hooded cloak remained and so, with a little help from Melven, he draped it over his shoulders.

His hair was still loose, but only because Legolas was incapable of doing anything about it with only one arm, and it was Melven who gestured to it now. Gathering the thick Avarin twists into a high tale at his crown and tying it off with the hair itself as he had seen Dimaethor do, he took a large portion at the temples and weaved thick archer's plaits on either side, finishing them with an intricate knot that denoted mastery. The rest was left to hang loose down to the small of his back.

Standing back, he nodded at his own handiwork and Legolas smiled at him.

"You are a bag of surprises, Glamohtar."

Melven started for a moment, and then seemed to remember that he had been baptised the night before as the Screaming Warrior and a smile threatened to spoil his well-worked mask of indifference.

The sound of a soldier's boots near their door had Legolas flipping his cloak over his head and pulling it forward so that it hid his features entirely.

Melven tensed and placed a hand upon the pommel of his sword, coming to stand at Legolas' shoulder.

They could hear Danir and Llyniel talking to someone, as if to distract them but their voices soon died to nothing, and the marching boots were back, until two elves stood in the doorway, Danir and Llyniel behind them, looking on in apologetic concern.

"We seek the warrior that escorted Prince Handir last night," said the cloaked figure, an imposing looking guard at his shoulder.

"I am he," said Legolas as he watched and waited, his heart sinking to his boots.

"Who are you?" asked Melven, his tone dangerously low and menacing, but Legolas placed a calming hand on his vambrace and the Noldo turned to look at him in puzzlement. Legolas simply shook his head and Melven searched his eyes, before nodding slowly.

"Come," was all the tall elf said, before turning on his heels and walking to the end of the corridor, past Nestaron, the master healer who looked on in curiosity as the four figures filed into his personal office and the door was closed firmly shut.

Danir and Llyniel watched on, alarmed when Nestaron finally caught their guilty eyes.

"What have you hidden from me?" he asked sarcastically.

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Two hooded elves stood before one another. Behind one, was a Sindarin guard and behind the other, a Noldorin warrior. One, was earth and wind, and the other ice and fire, tempered by centuries of grief.

Thranduil could almost feel the anxiety emanating from his son and the rigid stance of the warrior at his back, absently wondering why a Noldo would be with him.

"You are Legolas," he said simply, it was not a question.

"Yes," he answered, a lingering tone of defeat in his voice.

"I," said the other, as he reached for the hood of his cloak and pulled it back, "am Thranduil," he said slowly, purposefully omitting his title.

The cloaked figure stood stock still, frozen it seemed, until he finally spoke. "How? How did you recognise me?" he asked.

"I recognised your soul, Legolas. It was your presence, not your face, that gave you away," he said kindly. "And then there is that name; I do not know many elves called the Whirling Warrior," he said ironically, a soft smile on his face.

There was a prolonged silence, one born of utter confusion no doubt, realised the king, and so he softly continued.

"Will you lower your hood, Legolas? Allow me to look upon you?" he prompted, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. He had been told of the resemblance to Oropher, his green eyes and had seen the tip of a braid last night, but everything else remained a mystery to Thranduil. He could feel his muscles shake, his eyes as they moved too quickly over the shrouded form and his breath that came too frequently.

He felt the familiar warm feeling in his soul, the one that had told him just yesterday, beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt, that he stood before his son, for there was a part of the king that recognised the essence of his soul mate, that part of Lassiel that resided in this elf, in the son they had created together so that she may live, if only so that she could deliver herself to the undying lands and await the years of separation before they could finally be together.

The wait became almost unbearable and Thranduil knew that his own state of agitation would become apparent if Legolas did not soon comply.

He did, and with one hand, he flipped the hood away from his bowed head, and then slowly lifted his face and looked upon his father.

Thranduil's heart stopped and his eyes bulged, blood rushing to his face and ears as hot tears filled his eyes. His mind was paralysed and a gasp wrangled its way past his vocal chords. He covered his treacherous mouth with a jewelled hand and turned abruptly away.

Closing his eyes he breathed hard, his harsh breaths the only sound in the room. Legolas stared at his father's back and Dorhinen, in turn, stared at Legolas with wide, disbelieving eyes.

The agonisingly uncomfortable silence stretched on until Thranduil whirled around once more. His stunned features were slowly returning to at least a semblance of normalcy, but they were still clearly pulled tight in disbelief.

"How is this possible…" he whispered as his feet slowly brought him closer to the Silvan, the great king's head tilted to one side in confusion. "I was told there was a resemblance but I had never imagined…. _this!_ " he trailed off as one hand reached up and then softly touched his son's chest.

The contact was fleeting, as if he had simply wanted to ensure it was flesh and blood that stood before him, not the ghost of his dead father.

Legolas remained silent, staring back at the floundering king.

"I have - no words," he breathed again, his eyes roving desperately over his son's body, his face, his hands and then his bright green eyes.

"Lassiel…" he whispered reverently, and then suddenly, forcefully jolted himself out of his strange trance for he knew the emotion would overwhelm him if he did not stop it now, while he still could. There would be time enough later, when he was alone and free to feel.

With a deep breath, he stepped back and Legolas seemed to visibly sag as the distance between them was increased.

"You were wounded, are you alright?" he asked, his voice now steadier than it had been, no longer a soft whisper, almost as if he had become another person.

"I am well enough, my King," answered Legolas obediently as Thranduil continued to watch him closely. One arm was held against his chest and he still wore the clothing of the Healing Halls. His face was bruised on one side and there was a tiredness in his eyes that spoke of exhaustion.

"Dorhinen, and you," gestured Thranduil to the Noldo behind his son.

"Melven Hadorion," he said curtly, unaware of the flinch that had visibly moved the Sindarin warrior behind the king.

"Leave us," he commanded, waiting as the two guards left, each with a lingering stare for Legolas, who stood now as if one condemned before the hangman.

With a soft click, the door closed and they were alone.

Silence was their only companion for a while, before the king's soft voice shattered it.

"Legolas," began the king slowly, "I came here to meet you on _your_ terms, not mine. It is not my intention to intimidate or antagonise you. I wish only for us to talk, before duty takes its course and we are no longer able to speak freely. Here, I am an elf, not a king."

But his words were met with stiff silence.

"Child," frowned Thranduil, stepping forward. "Say what you will - but say _something_ …"

The impertinent silence was back and Thranduil wished he could strike it down. Before long though, Legolas did speak, so quietly, as if he spoke to himself.

"I do not _know_ what to say," came the soft reply.

It was Thranduil's turn then, to remain silent, until, with a heavy sigh, he turned and raked a hand through his hair.

"I want you to know," he began, using a different tactic now, in the hopes that he would at least, get the elf to speak to him. "I have publicly recognised you as my son to the court of the Greenwood, and ruled that you are to be addressed as Lord Legolas, but this you already know," he said, turning to look at his son, his face open and expectant and still, no reaction.

"I want you to be on equal terms with my other children, I would like you - to be a part of this family - if you so wish it," he said carefully now, his eyes riveted on the bright green eyes that stared back at him, eyes he had once loved, still did, always would.

"Have you nothing at all to say?" asked Thranduil, softly, pleadingly almost.

"I do not know what to say - and I do not know what to _feel_ …" and with that last word, Thranduil at last heard emotion. ' _Feel…_ '

"Tell me then, what you _wish_ to feel, even if you do not," he prompted, thinking perhaps he had finally found a way to evoke the child's emotional state. He had not been wrong.

"What I _wish_ …" he said almost absently, his eyes dropping to the side and Thranduil knew he remembered, was wading through his memories of long ago.

"What I _wished_ , when I was a child, was to have a father; dead or alive but a father of which I could speak, one I could put a face and a name to, and a place either in Valinor or Mandos' Halls," he muttered, a soft smile on his face, an expression of wistful childish dreams, and it brought hot tears to Thranduil's eyes, tears he held back as he so often had.

His son's voice was far, far away, and the words dripped now with sadness and suffering, and Thranduil's heart constricted painfully as he forced himself to listen.

"I wished, that I could name my father in pride for I was sure he was dead - why else would I be alone? I would reason. But as time passed and my mind matured I came to realise there was some dark, family secret, one no one would speak of and I was sure, _sure,"_ he emphasised, that my father had died in shame, exiled perhaps," he trailed off, and then turned so abruptly the king startled, for his child's green eyes were unnerving him, the brightness of his aura and the frown now firmly in place on his inexplicably beautiful face - the sad child had gone and in his place was a bitter adolescent.

"And I _hated_ myself then," he hissed, "for not _deserving_ a family, for not being _wanted_ , for being _forgotten_ and being _different_ \- the half-breed bastard of an _exile!_ " he shouted vehemently, his eyes but hinting at the pent up fury behind them.

Legolas checked himself and closed his eyes, slowly bringing his accelerated breathing under control.

"Don't stop, Legolas…" pleaded the king urgently, you need to tell me this, for yourself…"

"Need?" he asked. "I speak of the _past_ ," he said, and then laughed, but there was no humour in it. "I do not even know what to _call_ you, damn it!" he said.

"Thranduil, just call me Thranduil…" he said softly.

"Thranduil - what I _needed_ , I never had, and that cannot be changed, even though I wish it could," he said meaningfully, his face now but inches from Thranduil's, the strange green eyes focussing sharply on his own blue irises. This was not the face of a sad child, nor that of a bitter adolescent…

"You are so sure of that? That things do not change?" he urged. "I understand your words, and respect them and I will not contest them. I know I cannot change the past, but I _can_ change the future, Legolas, and so can you. It is but a question of desiring it."

Legolas held his gaze and Thranduil was sure the boy was listening, was reasoning his words. Aye he was young but he was not unwise, realised the king.

"Mere months ago I would have said you are wrong, but after all that has happened - I can no longer assume to guess at the future," said Legolas somewhat absently and something in his tone gave Thranduil food for thought - what had happened in Imladris that his son had seen fit to mention it for a second time…

"Perhaps," said the king as he turned towards the window, "perhaps you would consider working for the good of the Greenwood, as the Lord that you are. Perhaps, through this, shared objective, we may come closer than what mere duty would dictate. And," he added, "perhaps that will _never_ happen. But know this, Legolas, you will find my heart open to you," he said, struggling now to keep his own emotions in check. "You ask what you should call me, but I have no such doubt, Legolas, I call you my _son_ because that is what you _are_ , and you cannot change that, even if you wished to," he said, a note of defensiveness had crept into his tone, a bitterness born of frustration that he had not been able to hold back.

Legolas seemed to have sensed it, for his face softened with his next words. "I do not wish to," he whispered, the beautiful, moss green eyes full with unshed tears, "but I cannot overcome centuries of absence simply because I _wish_ it, Thranduil, and yet I _do_ \- wish it."

The king's eyes were wide in nascent understanding. His son wanted what he himself did but he could not _feel_ it. It was a minute, flickering light on a stormy horizon, and he was suddenly filled with tempered hope.

"It may confuse you Legolas, to know that I am proud of who you have become. Perhaps one day, that will matter to you. I am not leaving, I will always be here."

"I can give you no more than this, Thranduil. I do not hate you, not any more. I have learned to control my anger and bitterness for the most part, but having achieved this, does not make the opposite true. I cannot love you simply because you are my father…"

"I know," he said with a smile. "I accept that and I will not push you beyond your limits. In public, we are king and lord, and in private, time will tell. 'Tis enough that I have hope."

He stared at his son once more and cocked his head to one side. "Tis truly unnerving - how much you resemble your grandfather…. I understand your reticence to uncloak yourself."

"I saw a portrait of him, in Imladris. It was the first time I had seen him."

Thranduil frowned. "Do they not have libraries in Broadtree?" he asked somewhat ironically.

"Aye we do. But you see, it seems my identity is not a surprise to many. Those books must have been confiscated - I have spent my entire life surrounded by intrigues, Thranduil. Even those of my own village so you see - trust - is a difficult concept for me to grasp. The only people I truly trust, those I know without doubt will stand beside me, are those of the Company, and Glorfindel."

"Legolas," he said, his tone changing a little for it was no longer so deep and wishful. "We must speak of many things, of recent events here in the Greenwood and the role others would have you play and I must now ask you," he said, watching his son carefully now for his reaction. "Are you willing to take up your place as a lord of this realm? Will you serve our people?"

Legolas stared into his father's piercing blue eyes and when he answered, his voice was strong and resolute. "I have only ever wished for that - I will serve our people, and I am loyal to my King. But there are things I must also discuss with you, for while I am aware there has been an important summit here, so too, have there been events in Imladris, of which you must be briefed."

Thranduil nodded curtly. "I am glad then, that we have had this conversation, Legolas. Remember my words though. Do not think me unapproachable - come to me if you need answers, if you have questions and if you do not, then at least we are both joined in the pledge of our service to this land.

"So be it," murmured Legolas.

"Legolas. The next time we speak will be formally, at the fortress. I will be King and you will be Lord and I will know your loyalty. Know, though, that there are those that will oppose your presence…"

"You speak of Rinion? my brother?"

"Him, and others. Your great uncle Bandorion and his son, your second cousin. Have a care, Legolas, and to this end I have assigned Dorhinen for your safety, at least until the danger has passed."

"I had imagined as much," said Legolas. "Handir and I have spoken extensively of the political situation here, I am not unlearned in the dynamics at large."

"Then I am truly glad," smiled Thranduil sincerely, "glad that at least you have gained a brother in all this - this _mess_ ," he said and Legolas actually smiled then. It transformed his face and Thranduil was mesmerised once more at his loveliness.

"It _is_ a mess, is it not?" said Legolas rhetorically. "And yes. Handir has become dear to me. He and I are brothers in the true sense of the word," he smiled. "I am grateful for that."

A long silence stretched between them then, until the king finally broke it, turning to face to his son, his expression no longer guarded but graced with an openness that spoke of his wish to truly show himself for what he was. A father who wanted nothing more than to redeem himself with a son he had never known, but that wanted to, with all that he was.

"My heart is heavy for the pain you have suffered, and because I can do nothing to remedy that. It saddens me that we cannot embrace as father and son, that you cannot call me father and yet," he hesitated as a smile began to stretch his lips, "I am strangely heartened that you do not reject me, that you do not turn from our people and the responsibility inherent in the son of a king."

Legolas held his father's gaze as he considered the words he had spoken and then nodded slowly. "And I am glad that you understand, that you do not force me into thinking or feeling what you would wish. I am glad you count on me and that you know of my loyalty to you as king. I cannot guarantee there will be no bitterness, and I cannot guarantee that I will ever feel anything more towards you than the love of a Lord for his king - can you accept this?"

"I am content with that, Legolas. But I will always hope for more…"

Legolas smiled again, not a smile of joy but one of understanding, of good will.

"I confess," said Legolas, a little worriedly, "that I am at a loss as to what to do now, how to act, where to go even…" he said with a deep frown.

"Let Dorhinen guide you, Legolas. He will take you to your rooms, show you the fortress, accompany you to meals…"

Legolas closed his eyes as he listened and Thranduil could clearly see the anxiety in his eyes. He would be put on display now, and there was nothing Thranduil could do to change that.

"I know what you are thinking and I will not say it will not be hard, for it will. There are issues such as meeting Rinion, the councillors, and not all will be kind to you. It is just like any other battle you have fought, Legolas, save this one rages between these walls. You have Melven with you, and Handir when he recovers sufficiently."

"And I have The Company," he said. "They will arrive later today."

"The Company?"

"They, are the people I most trust, Thranduil, and although Dorhinen is assigned to me, I will not be parted from my brothers. Dimaethor you know - although not by that name but as Lainion - he was sorely wounded protecting Handir in battle - if not for him my brother would be dead. I must be there to receive them, Thranduil."

"Alright. You will have my leave, Legolas. Is there anything else I need to know?" he asked in curiosity now.

"Yes, one more thing."

"What is it?"

"There are dignitaries in our escort; Elladan Elrondion and Mithrandir ride with the Company, and leading our warriors, is Lord Glorfindel…" he finished, watching his father for a reaction.

"Glorfindel," he repeated. "Elbereth…"

"I know of his friendship with King Oropher," said Legolas carefully.

"Friendship? Nay - they were _brothers_ , Legolas. Inseparable, of like mind. Two mighty whirlwinds of strength and power. That was a legendary friendship," he smiled in remembrance.

"Then I must tell you, that Glorfindel has become dear to me, and I to him," he said softly with a smile.

Thranduil watched his son carefully. There was a hint of worry there, quickly hidden by millennia of experience. Glorfindel had been a constant in Thranduil's younger years, when the reborn warrior had leave to visit, which was admittedly rare. He had fond memories of those times, before he had met Lassiel and everything had changed.

"The rest of Prince Handir's escort will arrive this evening." I will not ask you to dine with us this day for I know you will not, and of course you have not yet met Rinion. Tomorrow, perhaps," he said, and then added, "remember then. Come to me with your worries, either as my son or as a servant of this realm, and look to Dorhinen for guidance."

"Of course," said Legolas, moving to replace his hood.

"Leave it. There is no point."

Legolas' hand froze, and then he nodded and drew a deep breath. He was anxious and Thranduil could not blame him for that. The boy was stunning to look upon and that in itself would garner him much unwanted attention. It also marked him unmistakably as a scion of the House of Oropher and that meant he was the king's bastard child, for some a blessing and for others, a shameful mockery that would bring insult, and perhaps more. No, Thranduil could not blame him for his apprehension, but it was a necessary step if anything was to be achieved.

"I will call for you later, Legolas. Come if you so wish it," said the king with one last, long gaze upon his Silvan child. Pulling his own hood up, he turned in spite of his desperate wish to stay, and left the room, only to come face to face with Dorhinen and Melven, and behind them, the entire group of healers, with Nestaron at the fore.

"My king," he said respectfully with a bow. "Prince Handir has asked for you," he informed with a satisfied smile.

"How did you know?" asked Thranduil quietly, his frustration clear.

"You forgot your ring, my Lord."

Looking down, Thranduil's eyes registered the fact that he had not taken it off. It was no ordinary golden band of office but an emerald as large as a quail's egg, beautiful, save there was one peculiarity. It was roughly-carved, jagged, wild, and so very very bright, just like the elf that had gifted it to him.


	48. The Colour of Blood

Author's notes:

Once more, a massive thank you to you all - I will have you know I am officially obsessed and cannot stop writing, and it's all your fault :))

Please have your tissues ready for the next few chapters …

Guest reviews:

LeggyRespect: I am glad that worked for you, but if you were blubbering after that, please check you have a box of kleenex with you for the time being… Thanks for the lovely words :)

Noph: Rinion and Legolas will meet in just a moment - but it may not be what you are expecting - snort! The Company and their jokes will be back, but not for a while, there is too much angst and drama on the horizon. Faberge egg - LOL - as for where that came from - I'm not telling.

Lara: Thank you, my friend. Rinion is coming right up and The Company will be back after this chapter. Gracias, amiga!

Earthdragon: So glad that worked for you dragon. Dorhinen has a story he has not told, which will be hinted at in this chapter.

Guest 1345: OMPP - nice! I am JEALOUS - Hobbiton! wow

Rita Orca: Thank you! Rinion is on his way and yes, Thranduil is worried that Legolas will not turn to him because he already has Glorfiindel. The Company will be back in the following chapter, but Lainion is arriving today…

Guest: Thank you very much!

Cold OUtside: You are very kind! And insightful!

BG12390: Thank you, hope you like this one as much.

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The Company (reminder for you all)

Hwindohtar / Hwindo - The Whirling Warrior - Legolas - The Silvan

Dimaethor / Dima - The Silent Warrior - Lainion -

Idhrenohtar / Idhreno - The Wise Warrior

Ram en Ondo / Ram en - Wall of Stone

Lindohtar / Lindo - The Bard Warrior - Carodel

Rhrawthir - Fierce Face - Galdithion

Rafnohtar / Rafno - The Winged Warrior - Elladan

Glamohtar / Glamo - The Screaming Warrior - Melven

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Chapter forty-eight: The Color of Blood

Legolas stood alone inside Nestaron's office. The door was open and beyond it, was utter silence, even though he felt the presence of many souls. His mind was still reeling, the face of his father floating before his mind's eye, the deep bass voice still echoing in his ears. He had met the king, had shouted at him, had smiled at him, had conversed almost normally with him. It sounded absurd, he realised and he almost laughed aloud.

It had not gone as he had expected it to, for although the anger had been there, so too had other, deeper emotions, the ones laying _beneath_ the anger, the ones that caused it and that Legolas did not want to bring to the fore. It had been all he could do to control them yet even so, they had threatened to spill over. It was some consolation though, that the king, too, had found himself overwhelmed at first, and he undoubtedly had many more years of experience and wisdom.

Melven came to stand before him and his mind sharpened once more, first on the grey eyes of the Noldorin warrior, and then on his own weapons the Noldo carried with him.

"Are you alright?" he asked in concern albeit his face remained rigid and unmoving.

Legolas smiled sparingly, and then spoke so softly that Melven would later wonder if he spoke to himself.

"Yes. It starts now… the _real_ work starts here, now," he muttered, unaware of just how prophetic his words would turn out to be.

Melven frowned, not quite understanding his meaning but nodded all the same, and then moved behind Hwindohtar to guard his back for the walk back to the fortress.

Dorhinen entered then and approached Legolas for the first time, and if Melven was good at masking his emotions, this Sinda was even more so, yet his eyes told a different story, one Legolas could not quite understand. There was recognition there behind the cool grey, but Legolas was sure he had never met this elf.

"Hadorion," was all the Sinda said with a curt nod at his comrade, before turning and leading the way out of the room and into the Healing Halls and behind him, Legolas, his face no longer hidden, free of the cloak that had masked his identity. It no longer served any purpose for the time had come to show the Greenwood who the Silvan was.

Healers and patients alike stood watching, transfixed almost, only grudgingly opening a path for the three elves as they passed, leaving it until the last possible moment to do so; everyone wanted to look upon the elf in their midst for it was surely _him_ , they whispered. Indeed the murmurs around them were mostly expressions of shock, poorly stifled gasps of utter disbelief.

Soon they were outside, walking away from Danir and Llyniel who had been their allies. They watched him leave from afar in sorrow and respect, and Nestaron, Master Healer, watched him in skepticism and fascination.

Their boots clicked over the stone courtyard, and Lieutenant Galadan saw him from afar, remembering their desperate flight to Imladris and the extraordinary events that he would never forget. The warriors too, looked on - this was the Silvan, they said - this was the young warrior who was a Master Archer, and the Sindarin warriors sneered at them; foolish wood-elves, they smirked, so eager to find a hero for themselves, even in one so lowly, so inexperienced, so sure of his own skill.

A small group of Sindarin warriors surged forward through the almost silent crowd, catching Dorhinen's eyes, but before he could warn Melven, the Noldo shouted, " _down!_ "

Legolas ducked and shielded his face with his forearm. Whatever it had been had missed him but seconds later, something impacted with his raised hand. Another object hurtled towards him, but Dorhinen grabbed Legolas and spun him round, taking the stone in his own forehead.

Dorhinen and Melven drew their blades simultaneously, Sindarin and Noldorin steel shrieking its terrible warning to any that would come close enough to taste their bite. They opened their arms and danced around Legolas protectively, their eyes searching the crowds for the slightest of suspicious movements, but Legolas held out his good hand, silently bidding them to ease down, for Legolas' eyes were now trained on the perpetrator and his friends.

Above them, drawn by the sudden silence below, Thranduil strode to the window of his office, watching the strangely still crowds with a deep frown on his face, and then spotting the hair of his son. He could not hear what transpired but it was painfully obvious that a volatile situation was playing out and so he watched in unsettled silence as the scene played out silently before him.

'If anyone thought the danger was not real,' mused the king, 'I am sure they have just changed their minds.' They were divided so clearly - it had become a tribal thing, he realised. This was no longer about individual beliefs but about _clans._

Surely now, only a miracle could pull the Greenwood back together again…

Slowly, Legolas walked towards the now wide-eyed Sinda who nevertheless stood his ground, in spite of the tall, powerful blond warrior that was approaching him, his face set in a frown of anger, eyes glinting dangerously in the mid-morning sun.

Soon, they stood before each other and Legolas spoke, loud enough for the closest elves to hear him perfectly.

"That _hurt_ ," he said sarcastically, tipping his head to one side, eyes boring into the brilliant blue eyes of the seething Sinda who slowly, seemed to be cooling off.

"It was _meant_ to…" he answered with a hiss, but almost before he had finished, Legolas cut him off.

"Why."

"Why _what?_ " asked the Sinda with a sneer.

"Why would a warrior attack a fellow warrior?" asked Legolas, his eyes slanting as he waited for a reply.

Melven and Dorhinen shared a frantic glance with each other, but held their defensive stances behind their charge.

" _Warrior?"_ sneered the Sinda. "You are a _child_ playing war games, you do not deserve to serve in our king's army."

"Yet I _do_. So tell me, why would a warrior attack his comrade? Why is color important to you? What has the color of my hair or the hue of my eyes have to do with my service to my king and our people?"

"It is not color - it's your bastard blood."

There was a gasp from the crowds, but Legolas was already speaking.

"On the battlefield, we all bleed _red_ , warrior, we all serve our king," he said and then moved closer still, so that there was no distance between them at all.

"I would die to protect your brother, your sister. I would die so that your father or mother could live. I would give my life for _yours_ \- thus is the way of the true warrior, be he a bastard, high-born or a peasant. It is _this,_ " he shouted as his hand fisted over the Sinda's heart, " _this_ that you should look to for your judgement. Look to the _heart_ and what it holds and your judgements will never be false," he said finally, his eyes lingering on the warrior before him.

The crowds were now silent, and further behind, Lieutenant Galadan smiled, and before any could react, a mighty cheer went up amongst the Silvans, and even some of the Sinda warriors wore soft smiles.

Legolas swivelled on his heels and then fell back in line with Melven and Dorhinen who did not sheathe their swords until they had reached the main door and the click of boots turned to a thud as they marched upon ornate carpets and rugs.

Narrowed Sindarin blue and grey eyes beheld the Silvan bastard, the shame of their nation, spawn of a lowly woman with no name or renown, and the Silvan lords, few that they were, watched him in interest and practiced restrain.

Legolas' hand was bruised and scraped, and Dorhinen's head trickled blood where the stone had hit him squarely on one side of his forehead but they could not stop, not until they had delivered their charge to his assigned quarters, and even then they would not move from his door, not until The Company arrived and so, breathless and tattered, the three strode past Thranduil's entire court, through a roiling sea of thoughts and feelings; so many pre-conceived ideas, a myriad of expletives, of compliments and insults that could surely not be reconciled and yet in one thing they all agreed; this child of Thranduil, bedraggled though he was, boasted a beauty that was not common. His eyes were too bright, his aura too strong, his hair too thick and long and his face, was too beautiful to describe. He was Oropher and yet he was not - for beautiful though the ancient king had been - this one was beyond the comprehensible.

As Legolas finally walked through the door that Dorhinen held open for him, it seemed that short walk had lasted an age. It was as though he had marched those final steps out of one life, and into another, one there was no turning back from and the thought brought sadness with it.

"Are you alright?"

"I am fine, Dorhinen, just - _annoyed_ ," he said with a flurry of his good hand.

"You should not have confronted him, my Lord. Your life was in danger," he said plainly, boldly.

Legolas turned and came to stand before him, his eyes glancing over the rapidly forming bruise on his head.

"That is why I _did_ \- why I _should_ have confronted him. See to _that_ ," he said, pointing at Dorhinen's head and then turning away.

"I need a uniform," he said absently. "I cannot traipse around in this flimsy clothing," he said, eying his bruised hand. Had he worn his vambraces this would not have happened.

"I can arrange that, my Lord. 'Tis better you be ready should anything untoward happen. There is more danger than we had initially expected."

It was the longest sentence Dorhinen had strung together since he had met him and Legolas was strangely heartened by it. For some reason, that skirmish had riled him, enough to shake his growing anxiety at the arrival of Dimaethor, dead or alive he did not know.

"I would be alone for a while, Dorhinen, Glamohtar," he said more softly now.

"Of course, my Lord," said one, while the other nodded curtly.

"And Dorhinen - thank you."

The Sinda stopped for a moment, and then left in silence and Legolas watched him, before sighing and shedding his cloak. Walking to the open balcony that stretched the entire length of one wall, he looked out over the back of the fortress and for a moment his breath was lost as his eyes tried to register what it was that swept before him. He gasped as he came closer, because for the first time he beheld, in all its natural beauty, the Evergreen Wood, hidden domain of Thranduil's Realm.

All thoughts of conflict fled his mind as he finally, truly gazed upon it. This was no childish daydream, no illustration in a school book. The vast expanse of trees and lakes and snow-capped mountains was real, and his mind was suddenly alive with colour, texture and aromas, teaming now with whispers as yet inaudible, unfathomable - he closed his eyes and willed it to stop for somehow he knew, that if he opened his mind to it, he would be lost, swallowed - engulfed in a sea of thoughts that were not his own.

'This is the pride of our people,' he said to himself. 'Never to be spoken of lest it be placed upon a map. This is what we fight for, this is our true home, Yavanna's greatness upon Arda,' he said, and then realised that he had given voice to those thoughts, as if it had been a prayer, a statement of what it was that had only today began. His work as Yavanna's Protege started here, now, and with a slow blink of an eye, he finally accepted his destiny, finally put aside his own suffering and self-pity. From this day forward, his life was dedicated to the people, to the forests of Arda, and to this end he would prepare himself, to the very limits of his own capabilities.

Later, while Legolas rested, Dorhinen watched Melven from the other side of the door they guarded, a long, calculating stare that soon had Melven frowning.

"What is it, Dorhinen?"

"You are Hadorion…"

"Yes," he said, his frown deepening.

"I knew your father. I was there the day a mighty Noldorin warrior fell…"

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Aradan strode into Thranduil's office, stopping in the middle of the large room. His head was full of the events down at the courtyard, events he himself had not witnessed. The rushed comments and whispers had reached him though and his keen mind was reeling at the implications.

His eyes were afire with excitement, yet it was not only his own news but the king's first meeting with Legolas, and Aradan had no idea as to how that meeting had gone.

His eyes bored into the king's back as the monarch looked out over the Evergreen Wood.

"Is it true? What they say, is it true?" he asked in mounting excitement.

But there was no answer, and Aradan's heart thudded uncomfortably. It had not gone well, he deduced.

"Thranduil…"

Nothing.

"By the Valar if I have to go to that room and present myself to him then…"

"Peace," came the steady voice from the window and Aradan jumped.

Thranduil slowly turned and once he was fully facing the advisor, Aradan's heart soared to the very heavens for there stood the king, the king he remembered from a millennia ago, the one that had inspired him, lit in him a fierce loyalty that would never be tainted. There, was the Sindarin king Thranduil Oropherion; his light was back, his mind in the present once more, his _heart_ \- was back and Aradan's eyes filled with the tears he had not shed in all those years of darkness.

"You're back," he whispered in reverence as he slowly approached the smiling monarch. One hand reached out and he slowly, hesitantly, placed a palm over the beautiful cheek, feeling one single tear as it rolled down his own face for the skin he touched was _warm_ and _pink_ , not cold and grey, and the blue eyes were no longer blank, empty shells, but sparkled with life renewed.

"Tis a miracle," he whispered and then smiled delicately.

"Tis not a miracle, Aradan. Tis hope rekindled."

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The sky had turned to dark blue, yet the Golden Sun blazed with an intensity that would have blinded any stupid enough to look upon it with the naked eye.

Golden hair slapped against exquisite armour, dirtied and torn, and brilliant blue eyes sparkled and glinted with steely resolve.

Ornate boots of leather and golden filigree resounded over stone, carpet and then stone once more, and the burgundy cloak of fine velvet swirled agitatedly around the powerful frame, lapping at strong, booted calves.

There was an urgency in his stride; worry, a deep anxiety lending him a fierceness that sent any passing elf off his path in a flurry of robes and startled eyes. Even the guards that sought to stop him could not, watching him instead, as he passed for he was known; he was the blazing sun at night, the beloved brother of Oropher had returned. He would not be stopped, none would dare to try.

Gripping the handle, he opened the door, the wood banging against the stone wall and waking the sleeping elf upon the bed.

Barely acknowledging the dark elf standing quietly in a corner, he walked slower now, watching as Legolas rose sluggishly from his bed, his face telling Glorfndel he had been deeply asleep. One arm rested in a sling but he was well and suddenly, the tension left him sagging. He was well, and although injured, he had found a way to keep safe.

Legolas walked towards him, his eyes an open book as they fixed on Glorfindel's. So many emotions, swirling behind those eyes, mused Glorfindel, and none of them controlled but left to fly free and reek havoc. He watched as Legolas breathed in deeply, no longer the brave young warrior he had come to love but the vulnerable child that wished only to feel the strength of a father's arms.

Glorfindel would never forget that embrace, for they had all but crashed into each other's arms, the force of it almost aggressive, until Glorfindel felt as one hand fisted the back of his tunic, as if the elf it belonged to were hanging from a precipice, desperate to anchor himself to the ground.

His own arms tightened protectively, possessively. No words were spoken, but everything was said nonetheless. I am here, none will harm you, for I am Glorfindel, and you are my child.

His hands came up to capture the blond elf's head between his palms, drawing back from him to look once more upon the singular face.

"Come," was all he said, soft yet urgent. "There is much to tell but for now," he said, a gentle warning behind his eyes, "we must accompany Dimaethor in his trance, Legolas, for he may not live to see the new day…"

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Mithrandir stood in a shadowed corner, watching as the drama unfolded, one he could no longer participate in, for he had already done all he could.

A flurry of activity surrounded the stone table upon which the dark warrior lay, with Nestaron in the midst of it, barking his orders until his face turned and caught one of the newly arrived warriors.

"Elrond?" came the disbelieving question.

"Elrondion, Elladan," came the answer, which was promptly followed by soft gasps from the younger healers behind them. But Elladan paid them no mind, for his eyes were fixed on Dimaethor, on the deathly pale face and closed eyes, the rapidly moving chest and the blood that had soaked through the bandages.

"The arrow to the side was poisoned with the usual, but it has compromised his liver - the shaft remained inside him for too long, Nestaron. His condition is critical. We administered antidote yesterday, and again this morning, but there has been no change in his condition," he hurriedly reported.

"Handir lives," said Nestaron, "and I know the arrow was not extracted for the day it took your companion to get here," he said as he worked together with Elladan to reveal the wound, but this is different - the poison will have affected his other organs by now.

Nestaron's hands paused for a moment as he inspected the wound. "He may not live to see the dawn, Elrondion…"

Elladan's heavy gaze turned to meet Nestaron's hard blue eyes. There was grief there, dread, and a growing sense of acceptance. There was every chance that Dimaethor, the Silent Warrior, Avarin rider of The Company, would perish this night, this he had already known, as had Mithrandir, yet the rest of Then Company had still to accept that more than likely outcome, indeed by the time they arrived, perhaps tomorrow, it may already be too late.

Movement behind him turned his face and for a moment, his heavy grey eyes lightened and a sad smile came - Legolas.

"You made it," he said, but the Silvan did not answer, for his eyes were fixed on Dimaethor upon the table before them.

"Tell me there is a chance, Rafno…. tell me I have not left him to die upon the battle field…"

Elladan held his gaze, the weight returning to his own….

"You _left_ him?" asked Nestaron, addressing Legolas for the first time.

It was not Legolas to answer but Glorfindel, who stood behind him. "To save your prince, healer," he said curtly.

Nestaron said nothing though he did flinch, before turning back to the wounded warrior, under the warning glare of Glorfindel, who seemed to have decided he did not like this Sinda at all.

Legolas walked backwards until he was shoulder to shoulder with Mithrandir. One wrinkled hand came to rest on his unbandaged shoulder, squeezing in silent empathy as they both watched the healers work. After two long hours, Dima was resting in a bed, Nestaron and Elladan at his side.

Elladan conversed quietly with him, discussing herbs and other remedies that may slow the poison that had extended throughout Dimaethor's body. The question now was not about an antidote, for that had already been administered and no longer had any effect - it was about finding something that would cleanse the blood and fight the infection that would, eventually, claim Lainion's life.

"Tell me there is some hope, Elladan," he asked quietly from the corner, his face falling when Rafnohtar said nothing and then looked to the floor. Nestaron, however, was not so benevolent.

"Had you simply taken out the arrow, he would have every chance of recovery - this is the result of your foolishness, child."

Legolas stared wide-eyed at the Master Healer, yet no words would come to him and it was suddenly too much for him. Turning on his heels, he walked away, brushing past Glorfiindel and then into the corridor beyond. His eyes were wide and desperate, his gaze fixed to the ground before him as he walked, and in his flight, he did not see the figure that walked in the opposite direction until he was almost upon him.

Pulling up sharply he startled, for before him was the face of an elf that could never pass by unnoticed. Silver hair and frosty eyes stared back at him harshly, imperiously, and then the ice cold eyes narrowed and glinted, the jaw tightened and the elf pushed past his shoulder, unnecessarily jostling his bandaged arm and walking away, into the room where Handir rested.

There could be no doubt in Legolas' mind. _That -_ had been his brother Rinion.

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In a room nearby, Handir lay back upon a pile of crisp, white pillows, his light blond hair fanned out around him, now clean and freshly brushed. His chest was wrapped in bandages, but his face was no longer white and drawn, and slowly, the purple circles under his lovely blue eyes were receding.

Rinion stood in full battle gear at the bedside, his own lighter, silvery hair catching the blaze of the candles.

"Rinion," breathed Handir softly, and the mercurial Crown Prince of Greenwood stepped closer, looking down sternly at his younger brother.

" _Fool_ …" was all he said, before sitting and crossing his legs at the ankles.

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Outside it was dark and quiet and the relative peace served to calm his mounting despair, one that had been fuelled by Nestaron's harsh judgement.

It was true, there was no denying it, if he had but pulled that arrow free, Dima may not be sitting on the threshold of Mandos' domain now - true he may have torn the liver and killed him there and then, but still he would have had a chance with Elladan there.

And yet Legolas clearly remembered how it had happened. There had been no way he could have left Handir upon the ground once more to help Lainion. It would have meant almost certain death for one or the other and Legolas had made his choice - it had been the right one and guilt had no part to play in his mind now. It was anger, frustration, and the threat of living without the elf that had meant so much to him. An elf that had guided him from novice warrior to Protege - he had seen it all, had followed him, even though he himself was a lieutenant. He had laughed and joked, guided and helped him, he had braided his hair….

It was suddenly too much and his eyes filled with tears he tried desperately to still. His hand raised to his twisted locks, fingers tangling into the weaves…

Legolas…

Turning to face the newcomer, he saw Danir standing over him, looking down upon him with a sad smile upon his lips.

"May I join you?"

Legolas simply nodded but said nothing for his throat was all but closed.

"You are close to him," said the Silvan healer, the blue eyes latching onto the damaged hand and beginning his inspection of it.

"Close, yes. We all are, Danir. But you are right. To me he is special…" answered Legolas distantly.

After a while, Danir spoke once more as he unravelled a roll of bandage and began to wrap his hand. "Nestaron is a good healer, Legolas, but he is rash in his judgement sometimes, and with you he has been cruel even. I heard his words, as we all did and although I do not presume to know you, I believe there was a reason why you did not draw that arrow…"

"Yes," came the sorrowful voice, whispered and hoarse. "I struggled with Handir to mount our horse, the corpses of orcs and spiders and goblins piled high around us for Dima and I struck up a mighty count," he smiled as he remembered their fierce battle. "Handir bled so much, Danir, his body so lax and his breathing so shallow. Arrows rained down upon us and it was all I could do to get us out of there before I myself was shot. I knew they were poisoned for I pulled that one out lest I not make the ride back to the fortress, and I knew that by leaving Dimaethor there I may be condemning him to sure death. But there was no alternative - there was and still is no doubt in my mind, that my decision was correct."

Danir remained silent for a while before he spoke once more, his head turning to observe the chiselled profile of Hwindohtar.

"And as a healer I tell you that you did save our Prince's life. You did not draw that arrow and that was well for although it had not hit anything vital, he would have bled to death. I am glad you feel no guilt for the decision you made for it was a good one. Nestaron will come to see that."

The silence was back, longer this time, before Legolas spoke again.

"Will he die, Danir?" asked the Silvan wistfully.

"Yes - I believe he will. I do not think he will smile at the sun tomorrow," he said softly, one hand reaching out to softly squeeze his thigh and then the healer rose and silently walked away, briefly catching the intense eyes of Glorfindel who stood in the shadows nearby.

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Elladan sat reading, his grey eyes raking the pages before him, his mind furiously searching for anything he may add to the antidote to speed the process, cleanse the infected blood and give Dimaethor a chance to survive.

He knew the odds, they were slim to none, but he could not stand by idly and watch the glorious Avarin warrior slip away and so he had commissioned Nestaron's office, and taken all the books he needed from the shelves that covered the walls, and then had firmly closed the door, allowing no one to disturb his urgent study and by the Valar he would not stop until he had something, anything that could give them hope.

Hours later, while Legolas sat together with Mithrandir and Glorfiindel in the small garden behind the Halls of Healing, Dorhinen and Melven standing in the shadows behind, Elladan furiously scribbled the ingredients he would add to the antidote. He had found nothing conclusive but right now, he would try anything.

Running for the door, he called for the nearest healer he could find, a young Sindarin elf with a lovely face that looked upon him with starry eyes.

"Run, healer. Find these things for me - bring me everything you can find," he said urgently, watching as she nodded and flew away.

It was not a remedy but a desperate last attempt. He was Elrond's son, there was little hope and he knew it, and he also knew better than to give in, not while his patient still breathed.

Soon enough, he was cutting herbs and roots, grinding dried ingredients and then adding them in quantities he then registered in his book. He suddenly felt stupid, for there was nothing in this concoction that would bring Lainion back - it was not a cure and he knew it - it was a simple exercise so that he could tell himself, when the inevitable happened, that he had done all he could.

It was time to go back to the Silent Warrior and face what he knew was inevitable, and so with heavy steps, he made his way to the bed and administered a dose of his strange tonic, watching sadly as The Company's lieutenant, slowly faded away. He could only hope that when the time came for the Dimaethor to be silent forever, that his passage would be gentle.


	49. Wild Flowers

Author's notes:

We are all on the way to 700 reviews! Wow, seems like just days ago I was jigging around after 500. Thank you - so much!

A longer chapter here, and some set up scenes for what is to come. I hope you enjoy it.

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Lara: Legolas and Glorfindel - yes - glad that you love them! There's lots more to come. Rinion, you say? Well yes, stuck up, definitely - but there is more to him than meets the eye. Gracias, amiga, por no fallarme nunca, me encantan tus commentarios.

Noph: Yes, he did step into the light, and his words were well noted, believe me. Glad you liked Glorfindel! Rinion? He is being obtuse - more of him to come.

Cold Outside: alas I cannot comment, not for a couple more chapters!

Rita Orca: ditto, no comments for a couple of chapters I'm afraid!

Guest 1345: Elladan has brewed something that may or may not work - I will reveal the contents in a few chapters time!

Ninde: me alegro que te gustara - prepara los kleenex anda!

Earthdragon: ah, I would love to comment on your review, but I can't! Give me a couple more chapters and we can discuss that comment you made…

Alindo: I would love to comment on your review, but I can't. Thank you for dropping by - so nice to meet you.

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Chapter forty-nine: Wild Flowers

Commander General Celegon sat behind his desk in an office just off the main courtyard, not far from the Halls of Healing.

Since the attack on Prince Handir's escort, there had been no time to rest; even today he had gone without the midday meal for work was incessant, and after the morning's regrettable events, he dare not leave his office lest some other, unforeseen business rear its ugly head.

Extra patrols had been drawn up and sent off, which meant more warriors returning from their turns of duty, indeed the city barracks were teaming, and Nestaron's healers were hard-pushed to keep up with the constant flow of wounded. Scouts too, rode in almost every hour with their reports, reports Celegon would then use to discuss the Greenwood's strategy and deploy her warriors.

To this end, General Huron stood at a sprawling table upon which maps were spread, and coloured stones scattered here and there, yet there was nothing random about their position. He talked quietly with three Captains, who listened carefully, their eyes trained on Huron's expressive hands as he pointed here and there.

Celegon approached them with the latest report in his hand, grabbing a fistful of black stones and then slamming them down close to the South-eastern border, promptly bringing their discussion to a close.

"Damn them!" he hissed.

Huron observed the area and the other stones around it.

"There are still many but we _are_ reducing their numbers, my Lord," said the General.

"I want to know why, _why_ this sudden influx - why have they come down from the mountains now? Precisely _now_? What drives them?"

The captains shook their heads for they had nothing to say. The enemy's movements were strange indeed, but the only event that could remotely warrant their increased activities was the arrival of Prince Handir, and while a member of the Royal Family, surely did not warrant such concern amongst the orcs - he was not a warrior, not a commander. The Greenwood's military leaders were at a loss.

Huron blew out a breath, dismissed his captains, and then turned to Celegon, his experienced eyes searching those of his commander, wondering perhaps, if what he had to say should wait. But before he could open his mouth and try his luck, Celegon turned to a side table and poured two glasses of wine.

"Here, join me," he said, handing one to Huron, who accepted it with a grateful nod.

"Out with it, Huron."

The General smiled, not bothering to ask how he knew, for the Commander was a most excellent judge of character.

"There is much dissent amongst the warriors, Celegon. The Silvans no longer keep their peace, no longer shrink from an argument, from a misplaced insult. They are answering back and the situation is deteriorating."

"Are there so many of our Sindarin warriors that are playing this absurd game of politics? A game they now nothing about?"

"There are enough, although they are the minority, their voices are far-reaching - sons of lords…" he finished poignantly.

"Of course they are," said Celegon ironically. "Do you have names for me today, Huron?" and in spite of his skepticism, Huron surprised him.

"Yes - today I have names for you, Commander, the names I should have given you years ago," he said and then turned to face the windows overlooking the main courtyard and sipping his drink. He was peeved, with himself, angry that he had misjudged a situation that should have been broached centuries ago.

"It is not easy sometimes, to live in a multi-cultural society such as ours, but when the few manipulate otherwise noble pride in one's origins, it turns rancid, toxic," came the commander's voice, now at his side.

"And yet I am a General, Celegon. I am responsible in some way for what is happening now."

"You, and I, even the King," said Celegon and then glanced at his general. "The Silvans never spoke up because they feared the consequences of riling those powerful enough to hurt them." He laughed but there was no amusement in it. "They have been so worried that they would lose their place in our military, lose the opportunity to rise through the ranks - that's all they worried about! It was never about money or power for them but their right to serve, on equal terms and we have all let those arrogant bastards weave their nets of veiled threats and absurd talk of Sindarin pride - words spoon-fed to them by their bigot fathers and classist mothers. I am sick, Huron. Sick of it all!"

He had begun calmly, but by the time Celegon had finished, he had been shouting, his face red with anger and disappointment at himself.

Huron looked into his glass, unsure as yet, of what to say, for Celegon, he was sure, had not finished.

"I am Commander General of the Greenwood, you are my General, my second. Go further down the line Huron and every single one of us is Sindarin - only our Captains are mixed - and even then, tis but a handful that are Silvan and yet they outnumber us three to one - what is _wrong_ with us, Huron? How have we let this happen? How have I failed in this…"

"You are in a position in which it is necessary to delegate, just as I am obliged to delegate. It is the Captains and Lieutenants that hold them back, Celegon, not us. Our error was to not sit down and analyse the statistics."

"It is little consolation, Huron," said Celegon, much calmer now.

After a some moments in which both elves simply stood, pensive as they drank, Huron broke the silence.

"Tirion has arrived."

"I know. He comes for Lainion…"

"Is it true then? Is he leaving us?"

"Nestaron says it is so, that there is nothing they can do for him," confirmed Celegon.

"He will be well-mourned, for Lainion the Avari is respected."

"On his own merits, yes," said Celegon. But it is more than that. He is not Silvan, nor is he Sindarin - he is Avarin - his people are outside this Silvan-Sindarin feud. He will be sorely missed by them all, his passing will be painful - and _shared_."

"Aye, that it will," said Huron sorrowfully. "They say he took an arrow to the liver, shielding the Prince."

"That is what they say, but we still do not have the full story. The Silvan was there too. There is a tale to be had, one the Sindar will undoubtedly twist to their own gain," sneered Celegon.

"My Lord," said Huron with a frown. "I believe, we are both in agreement on one thing…"

"Speak," said Celegon, his heavy gaze anchored on his General.

"This has gone on too long. We must find a way to pull our warriors together, let the politicians play their power games. We must no longer tolerate this arrogance, this schism amongst those that are obliged to fight side by side."

Celegon's eyes narrowed and his forehead smoothed out.

"Yes - I would undo that which I have left to fester - redeem myself if I can and there is only one way to do that - only one elf that can do that…"

"The Silvan…" ventured Huron.

"Yes, the Silvan."

"You rode with him to Imladris," said Huron. "What is so special about this warrior that he is on the lips of every Silvan and Sinda? He is hated and loved and all shades in between."

"Yes," said Celegon carefully. "But those that hate him are cooling off - something is changing, and after this morning with that fool Norion, that is becoming clearer. Galadan told me what he said, Huron. The boy shows much potential, more than his brother ever did."

"And what of Norion?" asked Huron.

"He will stand military trial. He was training for lieutenant you know."

Huron snorted. "There is no chance of that now."

"Indeed," said Celegon. "The same happened to Silor you know, on the way to Elrond. He despised the boy and then stuck his boot knee deep in shit. It was Silor's fault that things went as badly as they did -he will never make the rank, in spite of his father."

"So, if the Silvan is the key, what do we do now?"

"Muster our commanders, Huron."

"Which ones?" he asked with a frown.

"All of them. Every Captain, except those in the field. I want them here the day after tomorrow."

"Yes, my Lord. May I - may ask what you intend to do?"

"I will undo the damage, re educate them, root out those who do not wish to change and send them down the ranks if I have to - lords and all. Are you with me?"

Huron registered the words and tempered his rising excitement.

"I am with you my Lord - all the way."

Celegon smiled and saluted with his cup. "To the Greenwood and her military - may we be what we once were - fierce, brave, skilled and loyal, united against the common enemy, behind our king and our people - _All_ of them!"

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Legolas sat in a hard, wooden chair beside Dimaethor's bed. He was still in the clothes he had been lent by the healers, although his arm had just been freed of the confines of his sling. It was not completely healed but the bones had knitted, and when time permitted, he would need to build the muscle up to its optimum form before he rode into the field once more. But that did not concern him now; his mind was solely on the warrior upon the bed beside him, the one that had believed in him from the start, that had encouraged him, set him upon his chosen path - and with all it, Legolas had gained a friend, a deep bond that even should Dimaethor die, would never be shattered, never be forgotten.

On the other side of the bed, Nestaron and Elladan busied themselves grinding herbs, their eyes checking their patient every few moments, and just behind him, Glorfindel talked quietly with Mithrandir. He was unsure as to where Melven, or Glamohtar, and Dorhinen had vanished to, but he did not doubt they would be near.

"Legolas. Go and bathe, change and eat - and then come back if you must," said Elladan softly as he worked.

"No," came the flat reply and Elladan's eyes lingered on him a while. He startled though, when Nestaron huffed.

Elladan abruptly dropped the wooden bowl he held, its clatter drawing the attention of all those in the room, except for Dimaethor.

"What is your problem, Nestaron?" asked Elladan in irritation. "I respect you as a healer, but I despise your prejudice - it is unbecoming a scholar, and not to mention insulting to one that has done nothing to earn your disdain."

Nestaron stared back at Elladan in shock, as if nobody had ever dared speak to him in that tone.

"Prejudice?" he asked in stilted outrage.

"You do not realise, do you?" said Elladan with a frown. "You are not aware of what it is you do. You are so used to judging others without thinking - tell me, who is it that feeds you this nonsense? Where did you get the idea that Legolas erred on the battle field?"

"He left Lainion to die, Elrondion."

"Are you _deaf_ , healer?" said Elladan, his tone rising along with his mounting ire. "I told you I was there, Glorfindel, Mithrandir were there, we saw what happened. Do you doubt our word? Do you presume the gift of _foresight?_ Where does this orc _shit_ come from!"

Nestaron's eyes were wide, he was shocked and for the first time, there was no come back from the elder Sinda. Instead he clenched his jaw and turned back to his pestle and mortar, jabbing at its contents with more vigour than was strictly necessary.

Glorfindel approached Legolas, his eyes lingering on the healer who would not remove his eyes from the paste in his bowl.

"Legolas. I and Mithrandir go to the king. We would report to him."

"Glorfindel," said Legolas hurriedly, "don't tell him about my - _mission_. It is something I must deal with myself."

"Alright, he said, glancing for a moment at Mithrandir. "I will make sure the wizard holds his tongue," he said with a wry smile. "I will be back soon. I will not say rest for I know you will not, but at least allow someone to bring you something to eat."

"I cannot, Glorfindel. My stomach is clenched shut."

Glorfindel said no more, simply touching Legolas' forearm with his fingers, before leaving together with the wizard, bound for the king's chamber and a long-awaited reunion with the son of the one that had been his heart brother.

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Rumour had spread, and the healing halls were now surrounded by elves - Silvan, Sindarin, Avarin warriors and civilians, even children sat with their mothers, all waiting for news on Lieutenant Lainion, the Avarin warrior that stood upon the threshold of Mandos, in service to his land and king. Their feuds were forgotten for now, together in this one thing, their shared grief at the passing of a great warrior.

They sat and they talked quietly, respectfully, and when a group of four Avarin civilians walked solemnly past them, their heads bowed and their clothing dark, the soft words ground to silence. This was Lainion's family - his father, his aunt, his sister, the famed Spirit Singer.

Hands reached out to softly brush their robes as they passed, knowing what awaited them, the terrible trance they would now have to face. They would not leave, and should the Spirit Singer lift her voice in song, they would create a descant so sweet, so beautiful that even the Valar would shed tears.

Inside, Nestaron stood with Elladan, who had once more administered his strange concoction, even though it had had no effect, and beside the bed, knelt Legolas. Part of his hair had pulled from his tail but he could not care less. He would not move and Elladan had not the heart to make him. Melven was with him though, and Elladan new he would ensure Legolas' safety; he was a member of the Company now, Glamohtar, and although Elladan still had his doubts, he could clearly see the changes that had come about in the once mediocre, arrogant Noldo.

A flurry of activity heralded the arrival of visitors, and all eyes turned to the entrance, where four black-clad elves stood. The were tall and dark - their skin the colour of autumn leaves and their hair darker than a moonless night yet their eyes, just like Lainion's, were a brilliant blue. It was a strange sight to see the Avari away from the forrest, but to see four together, was nothing if not exotic.

Legolas' eyes were drawn to a female elf with the most singular face he had ever seen. She was beautiful yet it was not a soft, vulnerable beauty but a strong, handsome one; well-proportioned features, full lips and a skin so soft he wanted to reach out and touch it. It was her eyes though that sparkled with unshed grief, eyes so expressive he was momentarily mesmerised, and then Nestaron spoke and the spell was broken.

The four Avari had fixed their slanted eyes on the elf upon the bed. One covered her mouth with a shaking hand and broke into tears as she stumbled to the bedside and sat upon it, cupping the dying elf's cheek with her palm, while the other three assembled around her.

Legolas' heart clenched so tightly it hurt. He should not be here for this, he realised, and so he slowly rose from his knees until he stood full height.

The elder Avari, a stern looking man, caught Legolas' tired eyes and spoke.

"You are the Silvan?" he asked quietly, flatly.

"Yes, I am Legolas," he answered. It was almost a whisper for his voice had failed him.

The Avari simply nodded and then turned back to the one Legolas knew was his son - this was Lainion's father.

With eyes downcast, Legolas left the room in search of air, for he could not breathe and his chest hurt, and as he walked through the doorway and into the courtyard, he pulled up abruptly for there, before him, was a sea of elves, a blanket of multi-coloured hair. There were Sindar, Silvan and Avari here from all possible walks of life; warriors, civilians and children sat in shared grief and Legolas' eyes filled with tears, tears for the love he felt from them.

Walking slowly towards them, he folded his legs beneath him, and dared to sit in their midst, under the horrified stares of Melven and Dorhinen who had followed him to the door but it was too late, and as they watched him sink to the ground, their eyes shifted suspiciously to the elves around him.

Some reached out to touch him lightly on the shoulder, the thigh, others reached for his hair and he sat there, quietly, his hands sitting in his lap, his eyes closed. There was no danger here, they realised, for those that touched him, stared at him, were not only Silvan but Sindar - mostly warriors and yet here they sat, welcoming him into their midst for the first time.

A small child wiggled his way past his mother, a bunch of wilted wild flowers in his hand. Perhaps he had meant to gift them to the dying warrior or his family but his small, chubby hand reached out and placed the flowers before Legolas' face, his bright grey eyes looking on in trepidation, but also in awe.

Legolas reached out and slowly took the sorry looking flowers, turning to fully face the child, who slowly began to smile.

"Thank you," whispered Legolas, watching as the child smiled wider, and then giggled as he reached up to touch a twisted, Avarin braid.

Legolas smiled indulgently at him, and then, with his other, bandaged hand, he brushed his fingers over the drooping blossoms, watching as they suddenly stood taller, brighter, and the child gasped and then giggled - yet not so his mother, for she sat in stunned silence, as did the others that had been watching the exchange.

They said nothing, but their knowing glances were enough to read their thoughts. There was puzzlement too, but above all there was satisfaction, a hum of renewed strength. Under different circumstances there would have been joy too but not today, for Lainion was leaving for the undying lands, and they would accompany him in his passage.

As for Legolas, he smiled through his grief, for he felt a closeness to them,for the first time he was not rejected but welcomed, and the Sindarin side of him that he had rejected for so long, suddenly seemed to flare into life and then take its place beside his Silvan self, at peace for the first time.

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As the evening darkened and candles were lit, Mithrandir and Glorfindel walked into the king's office.

Thranduil turned from the window to face Glorfindel, his eyes lighting up in genuine joy, joy that did not quite reach his mouth, for his smile was sparing.

"Lord Glorfindel, you are most welcome in my realm," said the king with a respectful nod.

Glorfindel bowed from the waist, and then smiled too, the face of his beloved brother popping into his head. Pushing him away with a playful, mental snort, he approached the king and grasped his forearms in salute.

"I am glad to be back, my King - it has been too long."

"And most timely, I say," said Thranduil, moving to the wizard.

"Mithrandir," he said, his eyebrow arching and a wry smile playing on his lips.

"Well," said Mithrandir, seemingly affronted, "I assume _I_ am welcome in your realm too, my Lord," he said sarcastically.

"So long as you behave yourself and do not meddle too much - then yes, of course you are welcome, Mithrandir," he said, his eyes twinkling in mirth.

"You know my son Prince Rinion," he began, waiting for the greetings to end, before nodding at Aradan, who they both already knew.

Formalities over with, Glorfiindel sat where Thranduil instructed him and the four lords and one wizard settled themselves, reaching for the glasses of wine that Aradan passed around.

"How is Lainion, Glorfindel?" asked the king in concern.

"He is dying, Thranduil, and even though Elrond's son strives to find something that will help him, there can no longer be any doubt - he will sleep with Mandos this night."

"Handir will be devastated," said the king quietly.

"And Legolas - they are close."

The king seemed surprised at that.

"Thranduil, we must talk. There is much to discuss and, it seems, little time - the situation seems to be deteriorating even as we speak…"

"Commander Celegon and General Huron have spent the better part of the afternoon with me, Glorfindel. There will be a meeting the day after tomorrow, an important one - you are welcome to join them, of course. They _will_ deal with it Glorfindel," he said, his eyes lingering on the Gondolindrim lord.

"Are you sure, Thranduil? Your warriors are throwing _stones_ …."

"I know," said Thranduil, holding up his hand to stop any further discussion. "I am aware of it, Glorfindel. Commander Celegon has requested the presence of Lord Legolas for that meeting and I have agreed to it - my people _will_ see to it."

Glorfindel was not appeased, and he said as much. "If your warriors are that far gone, I dread to think what that meeting will be like, not to mention your council meeting, which I assume you will be holding" he said carefully, his eyes slipping to Aradan, who met his eyes squarely.

"There is an important meeting called for next week, a meeting in which I will introduce Legolas to the council. They wish to meet him, of course, before any political decisions are made with respect to his position here," he said his tone neutral.

Mithrandir spoke for the first time then. "May I join you, Thranduil? Lend council if you would here it?"

Thranduil considered for a while before answering. "I will consent, Mithrandir, but tell me first, what your intentions are. What is your interest in this meeting?"

The wizard smiled then, for the answer was easy, "I am concerned only with the will of those that command me," he smiled.

"What have the Valar to do with our council meeting, Mithrandir?" asked Rinion from his seat, his tone confident and clearly mistrusting.

"Oh they have a healthy interest in everything that goes on, my Prince."

"Do they? Who would have said, for we lose warriors with every patrol turn," he said sarcastically.

"I will not discuss the ways of the Valar with you my Prince. Suffice it to say I am where I need to be."

Thranduil allowed himself a snort of laughter, before sitting forward in his chair. "And thus you have said nothing at all, my friend. Come, tell us, what is your interest in this council meeting, and yours Glorfindel?"

Sitting back in his chair and drinking from his wine, Glorfindel ordered his thoughts before speaking.

"You have been informed of the events that transpired before Prince Handir arrived in Imladris, of course, I know Commander Celegon gave you a full report of that," he began, waiting should the king have any doubts - he did.

"Lainion extracted him," said the king sadly.

"Yes, they arrived two days before the rest of the escort."

"Celegon was somewhat - sparing when speaking of my youngest son. Why would that be, Glorfindel. Don't get me wrong for he spoke highly of the boy, saying only that he fought skillfully, and that he fell back from the party of injured warriors in order to protect them. He was generous in his words of praise but there are gaps in his report I knew he was purposefully trying to cover - why would that be?" asked the shrewd king.

It was Mithrandir that spoke then, and Glorfindel cast him a warning glance before the wizard could speak. Of course Thranduil saw it.

"Thranduil," began Mithrandir. "It seems that he is a listener, as you call them…"

"I have heard that yes," said the king expectantly.

"Well, let us just say that his skill is considerable, for he sensed the presence of two groups, not one, he predicted the ambush with sufficient forewarning to avoid that catastrophe."

Thranduil scowled, as did Rinion, who now spoke for the first time.

"Then why did they not avoid it?" he asked.

"Because their lieutenant would not listen, instead accusing Legolas of insubordination. Valuable moments were lost in the squabbling…"

Thranduil sat back but Rinion spoke again.

"Why would the lieutenant - Silor - if I am not mistaken, accuse him of insubordination, Mithrandir? Something else must have happened."

"It seems," said Glorfindel with the slightest of smiles, "that this, Silor, managed to crash into a mighty warrior by the name of Ram en Ondo- he ended up fuming and on his backside, claiming he had been flung to the ground.

"Fool," said Rinion, surprising his father who had obviously thought he would argue the point. "I never trusted that one - and he is, or was, a trainee lieutenant. I do not think he has much chance of earning that rank now."

"Be that as it may," continued Mithrandir, their quest to deliver the wounded was a harsh one, and Legolas proved his metal, my friend - not even the Sindarin warriors refute this."

"Well, there is that," said the king somewhat ironically. "You _are_ hiding something from me, Glorfindel…" he said matter-of-factly, and Glorfindel was not surprised.

"Yes. There are things left unsaid, that Legolas himself will explain to you once things settle, things we have both witnessed and will speak of, when the time comes."

"Why not just tell us now, Lord Glorfindel," asked Rinion, his icy stare locked a little too boldly on him.

"As I have said," he spoke slowly, "it is not for me to tell," was all he said, and Rinion held his peace, albeit he scowled.

"Lord Glorfindel," said Aradan, "tell us then how their training went, I believe you oversaw this yourself."

"I did," said Glorfindel with the ghost of a smile. "Your warriors credit this land, Thranduil, especially your son," he said as he sipped on his wine.

Thranduil resisted the smile that tugged at his lips for this lord would surely know how much he yearned for information on his son. It was hard to come by, yet with Rinion there, he would not want to dwell on that point lest his son use the opportunity to discredit him.

"Go on…" he said.

"I have a written report for you of course," he said, "but suffice it to say I have recommended him for the rank of lieutenant, and that he begin training - as a _Captain_."

"What?!" scoffed Rinion, "you cannot be serious, Lord Glorfindel!"

"Surely you jest," said Thranduil, his brow drawn tightly together. Aradan, however, sat back in his chair, his brows close to his hairline.

"I do not jest - 'tis neither the time nor the place for that, my Lord. I am serious, this is my opinion, you esteem it or not."

Silence settled over them as Glorfindel's words sunk in for some, and simply bounced off the surface of another - Rinion.

"This Silvan is seven hundred and forty-four years old, has been a warrior for scarcely a _year_ \- and he is to train as a _captain_?" This is _madness_ ," he spat as he stood and strode to the window.

Thranduil's face remained as blank as it had been before Rinion's outburst, but that did not reflect the king's emotions at all, indeed when he reacted to his son's words, Glorfindel and Mithrandir were left in admiration of the Greenwood's monarch.

Standing himself, the king addressed his son without turning to face him.

"Prince Rinion, you will return here - now," he said softly, and soon enough, Rinion stood before him, seething in pent up anger he had not even begun to vent.

"How old are you, child?"

Rinion's nostrils flared as he answered. "One thousand four hundred and twenty seven," he said.

"And what is your rank?"

"Lieutenant."

"And what do you think our guests are thinking now - answer with the truth, Prince," he said, the glint of a warning in Thranduil's light blue eyes.

"They are thinking I am jealous, of course. They are thinking that I am twice his age and am still a lieutenant, after eight hundred years as a warrior of this realm. They compare me with him and find me wanting."

Thranduil smiled and then drank from his wine before asking his fourth question.

"And are they right?"

"No," he said, his voice steady and compelling. "I admit I find that embarrassing, and I doubt the veracity of it, but should it be true, it is embarrassment, not jealousy - I do not _wish_ to be _him_ ," said Rinion, and Thranduil knew he spoke the truth and so he smiled and nodded, before turning back to their guests and sitting, motioning for Rinion to do likewise.

"Now, where were we," asked Thranduil. "Ah yes, your evaluation, Glorfindel. Please continue."

"My evaluation is sound, yet it is necessary for your own commanders verify it. This meeting you mention between your Commander General and his captains - that will be a pivotal moment, and I am afraid that Legolas must face that himself.

"Yes, there is merit in that but he will be alone in a hive of bees, Glorfindel. They will shred him to pieces if we let them…."

"Will they?" asked Glorfindel, who then turned to Mithrandir. "What say you, Ainur? Will Legolas be pushed aside, his claims ignored, relegated to a status of lowly Silvan warrior?"

Mithrndir's blue eyes sparkled in mischief before sitting forward and capturing the kings eyes with his own, the heavy stare looking on at the king almost in pity.

"Shred him to pieces you say?" he asked the king, his smile widening. "Oh no, I do not think so at all, my Lord. Indeed I believe your commanders - are in for a mighty shock!" he said, and then threw his head back and laughed.

Glorfndel joined him, and then turned to the king, still chuckling. "Thranduil, you have much still to learn of your son," he said, and then chuckled again.

The king simply smiled at their antics, puzzled though he was, but Rinion - the Crown Prince of the Greenwood, was not amused.


	50. Song From The Heart

Author's notes:

I hope there are no formatting issues with this chapter, I just could not upload the document so I copied and pasted, for the first time.

This chapter was a massive challenge, and was written with a box of kleenex at my side - one which is now empty…

There is an asterix just before the Avarin Spirit Singer - there is a piece of music I envisage as being the voice and the song this OC sings. 'Sacrifice' sung by Lisa Gerard / Dead Can Dance.

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MysticFolly: thank you so much for the lovely reviews - I am just having a hard time catching up :)

Ninde: Amorrrr? ah - puede… Pero quizá se desarrolle en otra historia. Rinion no sabe lo que le espera, es verdad - espero poder plasmar sus reacciones tal y como las veo en mi cabeza :) Gracias, como siempre.

Guest 1345: Thank you so much!

Earthdragon: Lainion - ah - no comments for the moment though. Romance - a possibility yes, but possibly in another story. Rinion's mind is a bit of a puzzle really. We do know that part of his behavioural issues are due to his resentment towards his father - but what he feels about Legolas…. well, he says he can't be bothered, but since when does that mean anything to the Crown Prince? We will certainly find out though. Glad you enjoyed this, and thank you!

Guest: Lainion? Well whatever happens, I really hope you don't leave us :)) Thank you!

Noph: The story may continue, yes. I think that really depends on what you guys think, so when the Silvan has been completed, I look forward to studying that possibility. Lain ion's fate is below, so no comments for the moment. The meeting is coming right up, yes and regarding ranks, I have chosen to keep it basic here - so: warrior - second lieutenant - first lieutenant - captain - then from there I only have a General and then a Commander General.

Lara: Thank you! The meeting is coming up, and it might not be what you expect… Glad Rinion is growing on you and as for Dima well, see below :=) Gracias, como siempre.

GB12390: Thank you for the lovely words :)

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Chapter 50: Song From the Heart

Afternoon had turned to early evening and still they sat in silent vigil before the House of Healing - the common folk - the ones that made everyday life work in the Greenwood - the ones that all too often passed through life unnoticed. However, the sound of thundering hooves broke their introspective mood, turning their heads towards the massive doors that slowly whirled into action as the strange mechanism turned and the mighty gates opened inwards.

Legolas stood slowly, his eyes narrowing and then sharpening on the group of tired, exhausted warriors that pulled up sharply and then vaulted off their horses.

Ram en Ondo, Lindohtar, Idhrenohtar and Rhawthir, immediately spotted Hwindotar standing amongst the sitting crowd, and ran towards him in urgency, clapping his shoulders and arms in a rushed but heart-felt greeting, their faces both relieved to see him well, and yet twisted in anxiety at what he would tell them.

"Dimaethor?" asked Idhrenohtar.

"Is making his great journey, brothers. There is nothing that can be done for him now, we simply wait to mark his passage," he murmured to them. Idhreno turned his back to them abruptly, his cape flaring around his calves and Ram en Ondo stifled a moan. Lindohtar cursed the Valar and Rhawthir simply stared on in disbelief.

"His family is with him now…"

"Legolas, come!" beckoned Elladan from the door, not waiting before turning and disappearing once more.

With a shared look of dread, The Company turned and followed him, under the sorrowful yet respectful stare of the elves of Greenwood the Great.

"Elladan met them at the entrance to Lainion's room, stopping their forward motion with his hand.

"He has regained consciousness but it will not last long - you must say your goodbyes and then leave him with his family."

It was too much for the mighty Ram en Ondo, and tears sprang to his eyes as he desperately tried to swipe them away. Idhrenohtar squeezed his shoulder, his own jaw working furiously in a vain attempt at quashing the overwhelming grief that had gripped his heart.

Lindo was the first to approach the bed, sitting softly by Lainion's side and smiling down at him, even though his lips quivered and his eyes danced.

"It has been an honour, to serve with you, Lainion. I will carry you with me always, sing your praises to any who will listen …"

Lainion smiled weakly up at him but could not speak and so he simply blinked and brushed a finger over the Bard Warrior's hand.

Lindo turned away, unable to look at those who followed him with their sad eyes, for if he did he knew that his composure would be broken.

Rhawthir took his place but he said nothing. He took the Avari's head between his hands and kissed him softly upon the brow, smiling down at him and nodding.

A stifled gasp escaped someone in the room, but no one cared to know who it was - it did not matter, and thus, Ram en Ondo took Rhrawthir's place, unashamed of the tears that poured down his face.

"I will see you soon, brother," was all he said, albeit it had been soft and strangled and then the Wall of Stone turned and strode from the room as if some urgent business had called him away.

Idhrenohtar was next, his wise grey eyes settling kindly on the fierce Avarin lieutenant.

"We will sing of you around our camp fires, when we are all lieutenants, and Legolas is Captain at last," he said wistfully, but his smile did not falter. "Dima will always be a part of The Company, even though he journeys now where we cannot follow. Have a care though, for I do not think you will be alone for long," he smiled. "Safe passage, brother," he whispered, and with a final brush of his fingers over Lainion's hand, he too, turned and left.

The moment Legolas had been dreading had come and his feet carried him to Dima's side of their own accord, his brain desperately searching for the words he would say but they would not come!

Sitting now, Lainion watched him through sad eyes and for the first time, spoke. It was quiet and whispered and Legolas bent lower to better hear his last words.

"Legolas."

Hwindo smiled a brave smile, but his chin quivered and his eyes sparkled with tears.

"Dima," came the strangled word of a lost child, a child that would soon leave, gone forever with the first kiss of mortality.

"Shine," he said and then watched as Legolas' eyes finally shed a tear. "When I - when I see - _her,_ on the other side - I will - I will tell her - tell her to watch over you," he said, a tear escaping the corner of his strange slanted blue eyes.

"Legolas smiled through his tears. "Only you would be so bold," he chuckled, "to tell a Vala her duty" he said, and then sobered again, sniffing.

"No, Yavanna already does - Lassiel - I speak of _Lassiel_ …"

Legolas' eyes widened and he pulled back for a moment in shock.

"She - she loved you - Legolas…"

"How can you _know_ that?" he whispered.

There was a silence before Dima answered him, and when he did, he smiled a smile of pride, of love, of respect and satisfaction of the job he had taken upon himself, one that had finally come to fruition.

"How could she _not_?

Words would not come to him for his throat had closed and so he listened, to what would be the last words Dimaethor would ever say to him upon Arda.

"Shine for your Lady, for your people, for _me_. Wear _these_ …" he said, the effort slowly becoming too great for him, but with one, final gesture, he reached up and pulled on one of Legolas' twisted braids that he himself had weaved. "Wear these - in remembrance of my love."

Tears tumbled over the rims of Legolas' green eyes, and a sturdy hand upon his shoulder told him it was time to leave. Standing shakily, he walked backwards until the face of Dimaethor became a blur - and then his tears finally swept the Avari away, destined now to reside only in his mind's eye, in that part of himself where only the special people dwelled.

He turned his back on those left in the room, and floated from the building and into the last evening Lainion would live. There, beside the door, was the Company. Turning as one, they held out their arms to him and then drew him in until he was no longer visible, save for his hair that stuck out over their heads, and not far away, the elves of Greenwood watched and wept at the sight of the five strong warriors that held on to each other in furious grief. They wept for their breaking hearts, for their youth, for their unconditional service even unto the end of their immortality.

A woman stood, followed by another and then a Silvan warrior, a Sindarin weapons tutor, an Avarin clerk. With tender hands they ushered the grieving warriors into their midst, bid them sit, offered them water and bread and then they simply sat, and they waited.

Captain Tirion walked past them on his way to say his own farewell to his friend of old, and there was time too, for Handir to rise from his sick bed and say goodbye to the elf that had given his life to save his own, and when the blackness of night lightened to the deep blue of an impending dawn, the *Avarin spirit singer raised her voice to the heavens in a voice so deep, so penetrating and yet of such mellow undertones, so charged with emotion their skin crawled and their tears flowed.

One voice rose to meet the Spirit Singer, weaving an other-worldly descant that was soon added to by another, and then another, until they all sung, from bass to soprano, they sung and sung until the Sun rose once more, upon a land that no longer had Lainion in it.

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"He is dead," said the king, slowly rising, followed by Rinion, Glorfindel and Mithrandir.

"I must go to his family," he said, shedding his luxurious velvet cloak of greens and blues as he left for a side room, and then reappeared, a black cloak now covering his regal attire, the crown gone from his head.

"Will you accompany me, my friends?" he asked softly.

"It would be my honour," said Glorfindel. There was sadness in his voice, but so too was their practiced custom, for the Noldorin Commander General had lost many in his long life of service.

"Of course, Thranduil," said Mithrandir, "I would say a prayer for his departed soul."

Rinion bowed to his father and then their guests, before leaving for his own room to find something appropriate, and before long, the King, followed by Glorfindel, Rinion and Mithrandir, walked solemnly from the fortress, and as they passed the serving staff, the lords and ladies, the warriors and the clerks, all bowed in silent respect for it was no longer a frequent thing for the king to leave the fortress, and that he would do so for Lainion, was a touching sight, a heartening one for the Thranduil of old had never failed to send off a departed warrior.

On they marched, until they were outside and approaching the singing elves that flocked around the Halls of Healing. They stood and bowed to the king but they did not stop their song, and in their midst, was Legolas, head bowed in sorrow.

But the king did not stop until he disappeared into the stone building.

Some time later, when the Spirit Singer had finished her song and the people sang on, they emerged once more, bound for the fortress, but the king abruptly stopped, almost as if he had not meant to, and then turned to where he knew Legolas stood, watching him from afar. His son's clothes were in disarray, his hair had fallen loose and hung around his waist and his face was cast to the floor in sorrow. This was his first loss, realised the king, the first special person his young son had lost.

Thranduil could not move, his feet rooted to the spot for the image of Lainion's broken father had stuck in his mind, the devastation of grief etched forever upon his stern features, and then, before the astonished gazes of Glorfindel, Rinion and Mithrandir, he walked away from them and towards Legolas.

As the people parted for their monarch, Legolas finally raised his head to meet his father's gaze. The light blue eyes were alive with raw emotion, and his own bright green eyes shone with tears, silvery traces of their passage running down his porcelain cheeks, his brows slanting downwards in a frozen mask of grief unveiled. He did not mask it, felt no shame and Thranduil's heart swelled in pride and love.

He lifted his arms only slightly, and then watched in spiralling emotion as those moss green eyes brimmed over once more and his child took one, uncertain step towards him, until he crashed into the king's strong chest and for the first time, Thranduil felt the beat of his son's heart, the warmth of his flesh, the kiss of his tears.

Closing his eyes in painful love he held his child to him, cupping the back of his head with a jewelled hand, tucking it under his own head and for one, blissful moment, he simply felt.

Glorfindel watched them with bright eyes and conflicting emotions but he smiled nonetheless. Mithrandir's smile was wider and Rinion, Rinion's face was a rigid mask of indifference.

"Will you come with me?" asked the king softly.

"I cannot. My place is here - for tonight."

The king pulled back and searched his son's eyes.

"Tomorrow, then?" he smiled.

"Tomorrow - _father._ "

Thranduil's smile was so bright, so brilliant that the people gasped at his beauty, the beauty they had almost forgotten over the centuries of his grief. But the Silvan, the Silvan had brought it back.

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That night, unknown to those of the Company, to the king or to Glorfindel, a bond had been formed, a bond with the people of the Greenwood, and the hurtful insults and disdain that Legolas had suffered since his arrival, and well before, was not heard that night, and neither would it be the day after. They were still there, but they were no longer spoken aloud, for they no longer went unanswered.

The people, working class elves - the base warriors, the teachers, the bakers and the stable hands, the healers and the merchants had shed tears with a son of Thranduil, a prince with no title had sat upon the ground and wept with them, had shown them his heart.

Neither did they forget the extraordinary meeting between the king and his child, or the wild flowers that the kitchen hand's son had offered him, the drooping bouquet that stood to attention no sooner Legolas' finger brushed over their wilting petals and they talked, between themselves, to others of the small miracle they had witnessed, of what it meant.

One thing was sure though; this lost son of Thranduil, this bastard born of a Silvan peasant was no spoilt child that sought power or renown. This was no arrogant Sinda or righteous Silvan; here was a child of the forest with a strong arm and a good heart and that was all they wanted.

It was timid, and nascent, but upon the lips of everyone; this was the _people's_ prince, their chosen lord, said some, and yet others simply shrugged their shoulders with a passing, 'perhaps.'

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Elladan had remained inside the House of Healing with Nestaron, stubbornly refusing to take rest until Lainion's body had been purified and dressed, for that night they would offer his body to the wind.

Outside, Legolas stood quietly with the Company, including Melven and Dorhinen.

"What now?" asked Idhrenohtar, as he watched the courtyard slowly filling with Captains. "What is going on?" he asked then, his brow furrowing.

"There is a meeting, one I must attend," murmured Legolas.

"We will accompany you," said Idhrenohtar flatly but Legolas shook his head.

"No, Idhreno, I must do this myself."

"You will not go alone…"

"No - I have Dorhinen here," he pointed, and five sets of eyes fell heavily upon the ancient Sindarin warrior.

"Who is he?" asked Lindohtar curtly.

"He," said Glamohtar, "is a mighty warrior from Doriath. Friend of my father Hador - I trust him," he said.

"Aye, but do we trust _you?"_ asked Ram en Ondo.

"I am glad that you do not," said the stony guard. "Anything else would be a sign of stupidity," he said, not a hint of emotion in his words and The Company stared in curiosity at the cold warrior.

"Legolas, I suggest we all take some rest," said Idhrenohtar with a tired voice. "This last night has been hard for you, and this evening will be even harder."

"It will be hard for us all," said Legolas sadly. "We must face Dima's final passing rites together, brothers. We must show this land what The Company rides for, what we stand for, what it means to us to have one of our own ripped from our hearts. Polish your metal and your boots, bathe and brush your hair until it shines, weave an Avarin braid for Dima, if you will. Stand proud with me at his pyre and sing with me until he has gone and we remain. And only then, we will grieve for him.

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Elladan had done all he could, he knew that, but it did not take away the sting of failure, of frustration, of not having the knowledge to curb that infection that had invaded Lainion's body and finally shut down his vital organs, one by one.

His eyes stared at the bottle of strange tonic he had prepared, left now to one side of the the store room where the fresh herbs were stocked. He had tried, and he had failed, and tonight, they would watch as Lainion's body was given to the fire.

Turning slowly, he left the store room and made his way back to the room where Lainion no longer lay, the sheets now clean and pristine, ready for another warrior to take his place. Reaching for his cloak, he slipped it over his shoulders and then picked up his sword, pushing it into the leather loop at his belt.

He was filthy and dishevelled, tired beyond belief, but he had still not greeted the king as his station required, did not even know where to go to bathe and rest and so, with a heavy sigh, he turned and headed for the fortress. However, an elf stood in his path, Nestaron.

Looking up, Elladan cocked his head to the side, wondering what he wanted but he was simply too tired to be angry any more.

"Elrondion," began the Master Healer, waiting to be acknowledged before he continued. Elladan met his eyes.

"You are a skilled healer, Elladan. We are grateful - for your efforts."

Elladan had not been expecting that and his face must have shown his surprise.

"I know," said Nestaron, holding up a palm of his hand, "I have been harsh, and any who know me will tell you that is my way - I only regret that those words now stand between us."

Elladan breathed out and looked to the floor, before raising his head once more.

"Nestaron. I meant what I said, you are a skilled healer and for that you have my respect, but this - unwillingness to think, to reason when it comes to the Silvan, your eagerness to discredit him is not befitting a man of your intelligence - I cannot respect that."

Nestaron looked contrite for a moment, but his face changed as he uttered his next words, words that took Elladan by surprise.

"Logically, I know that you are right, my Lord, but sometimes, it is the heart that speaks, that dictates the rules of the game, it is the heart that can make an idiot out of the most intelligent of elves. For my part, I will remember your words …" he said pointedly, before bowing, and walking away, back to his patients.

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And so the trees whispered and hummed their sad song. Lainion the Avari has gone away, crossed the sea with no boat, into the arms of the Lord of Death. And as they spoke and sung, so too did the forest dwellers. The Silvan and the Avarin listeners bowed their heads in sorrow and then lifted their own voices in a song of praise and thanks.

Golloron the Spirit Herder lifted his head to the sun and closed his eyes in grief. Slowly he opened them once more and turned to the elf at his side.

"It is time - time to return to the fortress."


	51. Shine

Author's notes:

Well, Dimaethor has gone, but that does not mean he will no longer be a part of the Company!

And now, Legolas is changed, and finally ready for what he must do. Hope you enjoy this stronger, wiser Legolas who will now, at last, show his true worth.

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Guest 1345: Thank you!

Rita Orca: Thank you! I know, so many bawling reviewers - well alright, me too. Action? Oh yes - LOL. This next chapter will set it up and then Legolas will be shaking his stuff :))

Noph: I know! And thanks. Hope you enjoy the next one.

Guest: ninde? eres tu? Gracias, amiga.

Earthdragon: Thank you! There is some Rinion in this chapter, a first encounter with his half brother and well…. sparks may fly :)

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 **The Company:**

Hwindohtar - Legolas

Dimaethor - Lainion (deceased)

Rafnohtar - Elladan

Rhawthir - Galdithion

Ram en Ondo -

Idhrenohtar -

Glamohtar - Melven

Lindohtar - Carodel

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 **Chapter fifty-one: Shine**

Elladan was tired, exhausted after two days of battle, in which the enemy had not been darkness but infection, and Elladan - had lost.

His clothes were crumpled and untidy, his hair a mass of tangled knots; his boots were filthy and his heart in pain for the elf that had meant so much to him, in spite of the short time they had known each other.

He had tried and had been found wanting; yet there was no guilt, for Elladan knew he had done all he could, had left no stone unturned. It was frustration, anger that the key had slipped through his fingers.

The Company had left for the barracks, in search of rest, and then a place to prepare themselves for Dimaethor's rites of passage that evening, for Hwindohtar had asked them to shine for their lost brother, and Elladan knew they would do no less - indeed neither would he.

But first, he knew he must visit the king, for Elladan was a Lord of the House of Elrond and protocol required he paid his respects. And then there was the small detail that he did not know where to go. A visiting lord was generally provided with rooms inside the main building - not that it mattered to Elladan, but he _was_ his father's representative.

Soon he was inside and with no idea of where to go and so, asking for instructions, he was sent to Lord Aradan's rooms.

After three flights of stairs and an increasingly heaver step, Elladan knocked upon the heavy oak doors.

The door opened to reveal a blond Sinda with tired eyes.

"Elrondion?" he asked.

"Elladan Elrondion, my Lord. I seek audience with the king to pay my respects."

"Of course, my Lord, we were expecting you. Come, I will escort you," he said tiredly, his eyes travelling over the exhausted Noldo.

"I wanted you to know, Elrondion, that your efforts to save our brave warrior have been noted. The people are grateful," he said softly but pointedly.

Elladan turned to look at the regal-looking Sinda, allowing himself a small smile and a nod of thanks to the Councillor, but he said nothing for he was too tired, and not enough in control of his own emotions to speak of it just yet.

Soon enough, a bedraggled Elladan stood before the pristine King of Greenwood the Great, but to Elladan's utter shock, the monarch walked towards him, took his head between his hands, and kissed him upon the brow, before drawing back and looked deeply into his grey eyes.

"You have my thanks for your care of Lainion. I have heard of your efforts, Elladan, in spite of your own needs."

Elladan's eyes filled but he did not shed a tear for had he, he knew they would not stop and so he swallowed them back and nodded, just as he had done with Aradan.

"I can well see you are tired. Aradan," he said, turning to his Chief Advisor. "Will you summon Galion, please?"

"Of course, my Lord."

"Come, Elladan, sit, and drink a glass of wine with me."

He dumbly nodded, and then sat a little too heavily in the chair before the king, gratefully accepting the goblet of cool wine and taking a long sip.

"Thank you, my Lord," he said, relishing for a moment, the feel of the refreshing liquid that revived him just a little.

"Galion will provide you with a room here, close to Legolas, for I have been told you are good friends," he said conversationally, but Elladan easily detected the king's thirst for information.

"Yes. Legolas has a natural empathy that is difficult to resist, my Lord. My father has given me leave to ride with him and to further my studies here in the Greenwood, if that is acceptable to you, of course. I - I have a project I would discuss with you at a later date, my Lord," he added, his eyes slipping to the king's face.

"Of course," smiled Thranduil and then rose as Galion entered.

"Galion, please prepare a guest suite on this level and see that a bath is drawn and food delivered."

"Of course, my King," bowed Galion and then left to do his Lord's bidding.

"Thank you, my Lord," said Elladan with a grateful nod.

"You are welcome here, Elladan. I have not yet had much time to speak with Lord Glorfindel and admit I am more than a little curious as to the events that took place in Imladris. Perhaps you would join me tomorrow for the evening meal?"

"I would be honoured, my Lord, to accompany you, and to speak of Legolas' time in Imladris. There is much to tell for I gained a friend there, amongst other things."

Thranduil smiled, a sparkle of excitement in his eyes and Elladan realized that he must have missed something, something important for the king spoke openly of his son, with pride in his eyes. There was no anxiety there, no trepidation.

I will see you later, then, at Lainion's rites?" said the king, for Elladan had finished his wine and it was time for rest, or in the case of the king, to think, and to plan, for tomorrow - his Commanders would put his son to the test, of that he had not the slightest doubt.

"Of course, my Lord. Until later then," he said with a bow.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Later that morning, Elladan lay back in a tub of steaming, fragrant water, his hair wet and clean, sleep pulling at him insistently, but he would not let it take him, not yet.

He felt overwhelmed; so many emotions, so much hope that had been dashed, replaced now by grief. It was over - their unfortunate journey, the tragic events that had ended so cruelly, the worry for Lainion and for Legolas. All that was left was to mourn, and then to enter this game of politics they all seemed destined to play.

And then there was Thranduil, the king he had just met and stood in awe of - Legolas' father, he reminded himself. He was not what he had been expecting at all for that show of emotion had been bold, and so very touching. This was no cold, grieving king, no cruel, hardened monarch. He was a good elf, with a good heart and, he wagered, would be a good father.

Laying back he closed his eyes and Lainion's face came to him, alive and smiling and Elladan swallowed thickly.

'Forgive me, Dimaethor, please - forgive me…'

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Dusk was upon them and Legolas lay upon his bed, his eyes fixed on the stone ceiling above him.

He had bathed, eaten and slept - alone in his room for the entire day, alone with his thoughts and his grief but now, his mind was strangely - ordered. It did not make sense for there was a deep hurt in his chest, and the annoying brush of anxiety at what the next few days would inevitably bring with them. Lainion's smiling face would visit him every now and then, as did his own father's. Perhaps it was his dream, he pondered, that had given him a semblance of peace and tranquility, of strength where only hours before, there had been despair.

In his dream, he saw the woman in the tree once more, smiling down at him. He saw Amareth's proud eyes and he saw Idhrenohtar and Ram en Ondo's playful smirks. He saw Elladan clapping him upon the back in friendship, and Glorfindel cupping his cheek as a father would a son. He saw Handir's kind blue eyes, and then Lainion, guiding him in the ways of a warrior, braiding his hair before a camp fire. He felt the soothing hands of the people as they shared his grief and the merry eyes of a child that gave him flowers. He saw his extraordinary father, felt his strong arms as they enfolded him, pressed him close to his strong body.

Before he knew it, Legolas reached up to brush at the lone tear that had escaped him. So many people, so much love where just a year before, it was only him and his childhood friends, and his aunt Amareth and her pea soup. So much had happened in such a short time, so many good things, in spite of the rocky journey.

He smiled but his eyes steeled themselves as a new light came into them. Confidence, security, love, purpose.

Rising from the bed, he smiled down at the new uniform that had been laid out for him. It was the uniform of a base warrior. Black breeches and boots, a thin white under-tunic and a thick, leather over tunic. The simple belt had already been looped to fit a sword and the green cape would only reach his calves. But as he lifted the cloak he startled, for there, below the soft material, lay a magnificent bow. Reaching reverently for it, he ran his fingers over the wood, until they ghosted over the Tengwar that was etched there.

'Legolas Thranduilion'

His skin came alive and a rush of blood heated his face. It was a gift…

Beside it, stood a beautiful quiver that boasted a golden buckle, the only sign that _this_ soldier was no ordinary base warrior but the son of a lord.

'Father…' he murmured.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

It was time, and the entire Company, together with Dorhinen, stood before Legolas' door, waiting for him to open it and when he did, all seven of them stared back in utter shock, for there before them, stood a prince in all but title.

It was no matter that his uniform was that of a simple warrior - it was the way it sat with him. The fit was perfect and the golden buckle upon his breast, although small, stood out like a blazing sun. Over his right bicep and over the material of his tunic, were his warrior decorations for tonight, was a night for ceremonial uniform.

For moments such as these, it was customary for warriors to arm themselves only with the weapons they mastered, and so, upon Legolas' back, the tip of a beautiful bow towered over his blond head, and the polished metal of his twin swords sparkled as they peeked over his strong shoulders.

It was his hair though, that had them smiling through their grief, for the Avarin locks had been retwisted, and then gathered up and secured high upon his head and at his temples, two braids sat parallel to each other on either side, one for the archer, another for the swords, yet the rest of his glorious mane was not plaited but left to flow down his back, over his empty quiver and down past the small of his back.

"Come," said Legolas, breaking the stunned silence. "Let us send our brother's body to the wind," and with that he left, bound for the grounds beyond the courtyard, six warriors behind him walking in silence, and pride to be following such an extraordinary elf, one that seemed to have transformed with the closing and opening of a door.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

The great gates of Greenwood the Great stood open and beyond, the blaze of many torches marked the area where Lainion's body rested over a mighty pyre.

Slowly, the glade was filling with warriors of every rank and culture, all decked in their finest uniforms. Some were armed and braided for they were masters, and others were not, but the mixture was fascinating.

In one corner, Glorfindel stood talking with Commander Celegon and a number of his captains, for tomorrow, was the much awaited meeting that he had called, one Glorfindel would not attend, even though Celegon had insisted he did.

"You have read my report, Celegon. I will say no more until you have drawn your own conclusions - I do not want to influence anyone in this, for if I did, I would lose Legolas' friendship, of that I have no doubt."

Celegon, of course, knew Legolas, although not well, but he had seen him fight, and that, he would never forget. However, promoting a base warrior to a trainee captain was simply unheard of, and no doubt unwise. But that did not eliminate the problem, the threat.

He was about to open his mouth once more, but he shut it as the glade became silent, not because the king had arrived, but his son, the Silvan, walked into the glade, flanked by six warriors perfectly decked in their uniforms. Hundreds of eyes registered their heritage, and the single Avarin braid they all wore over one shoulder - all except the Silvan himself for his entire head was covered in them, bunched high on his head by another braid holding it all together.

Their eyes travelled down the river of light blond hair, and then to the dual braids at his temples, the bow and the short swords.

Finally, their eyes trained upon his face - the face of Oropher and yet no so for his eyes were a startlingly clear green that seemed to shine from the inside - beautiful and strange, beguiling, and his skin shone so bright it did not seem normal at all. There was a power here they did not understand, this was clear to the elder members of the congregation, the more veteran warriors.

Glorfindel's face shone in pride, smiling as Legolas came to stand before him and nodded respectfully.

"Lord Glorfindel," he said simply.

"Lord Legolas," said Glorfindel. You know Commander Celegon, of course," he said, watching as both elves nodded respectfully at each other. "This here is Captain Dunorel," he continued, "and Captain Thoron." Both Sindarin captains nodded, their eyes glancing over his right bicep and the decorations that sat there.

"Tis a pleasure to meet you, Lord Legolas," said Dunorel. "I have heard much talk of your archery skills, but I was not aware you were a master of the Short Swords," he said. "I look forward to a turn on the training fields with you," he smiled, indeed Legolas own eyes had slipped to a similar decoration the captain wore on his own arm.

"It would be a pleasure, Captain," he said, as serious as he had been on his arrival, although Glorfindel rather thought he saw a spark of gratitude behind the grief in his eyes. Indeed Legolas seemed different, and he knew it was not just the grief for a fallen brother.

Soon enough, the king was there, flanked by his two princes, Rinion, impeccable in his silver tunic and crown, and Handir, still pale and weak in his heavier civilian robes.

The royal family bowed respectfully at the pyre, and before long, the king was speaking. His words were powerful and generous for he spoke of a mighty warrior, a loyal guard, a generous elf that would be remembered, and when a guard handed him the torch that would set the pyre aflame, Thranduil did not hesitate and the body of Dimaethor was engulfed.

A soul-wrenching scream from a devastated sister ripped through the silence of the forest, and straight through the hearts of those that stood by, helpless to ease her suffering save for the small consolation of their presence.

It was Lainion's father who walked forwards then, until he stood before the king. With a nod, he presented his son's weapons to the king, as was customary, and Thranduil accepted them with a bow from the waist, the maximum expression of respect from a king, and with that simple gesture, Lainion's family walked from the glade in silence.

"Excuse me," said Legolas with a bow to Glorfindel and the captains, holding up his hand to the Company, for where he went now, they could not follow. Dorhinen however, was on his heels as he walked towards the king and princes, under the critical gaze of Greenwood's commanders.

"My king," bowed Legolas formally.

"Lord Legolas," said the king. "Join us," he said.

"Of course, my King," he answered, his eyes straying to Handir, green eyes softening for a moment, watching as they were answered by Handir's sad smile.

And from afar, Glorfindel watched as the king walked away, his two princes behind him, and then Legolas and Dorhinen, and although the Silvan wore no crown, or the fine robes of royalty, there could be no mistaking his heritage, indeed some would say his very hair was all the crown he needed.

"Tis Oropher reborn," murmured Dunorel."

"Aye - Thranduil and his three sons - I wonder what Lieutenant _Rinion_ thinks about all this," smirked Thoron as he watched them pass.

"Rinion? If I know him at all, he will not be pleased, not at all," said Dunorel, his eyes lingering on the elf that brought up the rear, the warrior elf, the one he was now, thoroughly intrigued with and suddenly, the captain could not wait for the next day, and the meeting that would present Legolas as a warrior before his superiors.

He smirked to himself then, for 'meeting' was hardly the word for what the Inner Circle, Greenwood's captains, had in store for him.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Comfortable chairs and sofas decorated an ample balcony that looked out over the stunning Evergreen Wood, leaving the four elves with a breathtaking view beyond the fortress. Indeed Legolas had had no time at all to admire its beauty, explore it, even though he knew only the foresters were aloud inside.

The truth was it unnerved him, for there was an insistent call, one he could not answer, for if he did, there would be no telling what would happen. His ability was still changing, showing itself slowly but surely - Legolas could not risk a new facet manifesting itself before his own father and brothers, elves that still did not know his secret.

"Come, sit with me my sons.

Handir smiled sparingly, for while the tension between Legolas and Thranduil was tolerable, between Legolas and Rinion there were bolts of lighning, an almost unbearable tension that Handir must soon snap.

Thranduil was no fool of course, and he truly did not expect this first attempt to go well at all. It was necessary nonetheless.

"How are you, Handir?" asked Legolas as he accepted the glass of wine his father served him.

"Still weak, Legolas, but better. I never got to thank you - for saving my life," he said as he drank.

"You must tell us the story one day," said the king, "when the grief has passed," he added, taking his own goblet to his lips, his eyes travelling from one son to the other, wondering when the storm would break.

"Legolas," said Rinion, the name rolling off his tongue slowly, purposefully, the first time he had addressed his brother verbally.

"You are a forthright elf, yes?" he asked, "You favour sincerity over falsehood, am I right?" he asked.

Legolas held his brother's icy gaze before answering, obviously guessing at the tactic the Crown Prince would use.

"Yes, Rinion," he answered, his brother's name strange in his mouth.

"Then you already know that your presence does not sit well with me," he said challengingly, sitting back to wait for Legolas' reply.

"Well, our first 'meeting' in the Halls of Healing are consistent with that claim, Rinion," answered Legolas calmly, his green eyes returning the challenge Rinion had thrown at him.

"You are observant, that is good," replied the prince as he drank and smiled just a little at his own sarcasm.

"Father," began Legolas, tomorrow is the Commanders meeting, as you know," he said, but got no further, for Rinion was already speaking.

"Ah yes - the one in which you hope to be invested a _Captain_ , at - eh, seven hundred and forty-four - that meeting, yes?" he asked.

"You have information I do not, it seems. Pray tell, Rinion, where you heard _that_?"

Thranduil stared into his goblet, listening and analysing and Handir, it seemed, did likewise, just as Erestor had taught him to do.

"Oh, from Glorfiindel himself! He recommends you for the rank of lieutenant and says you should study for captaincy," he smiled but there was a scowl upon his brow.

Legolas stared back at him in surprise for a moment. "Well, I am flattered," he said, and then popped a piece of cheese into his mouth, his eyes staring at his half brother.

Handir laughed out loud, his mouth open and Thranduil smirked as he helped himself to a stuffed mushroom.

"So your tac is to rile me," said Rinion drolly - "I warn you - it may work…"

Legolas said nothing, for he was not interested in pursuing this road. It was dangerous because Rinion indeed had a perchance for losing his temper, but then so did Legolas.

"It is important," continued Legolas, "that you hear what I have to say about an - an event that transpired during my stay in Imladris, it is of vital importance to whatever transpires tomorrow."

"Did you disgrace yourself?" asked Rinion in mock interest, but his comment went unchallenged.

"You may have heard," he continued, "that I am a listener."

Thranduil's attention was back fully on Legolas' words, forgetting the rather entertaining face off between his eldest and youngest. "Yes, I did hear, but tell me more."

"Handir is aware of what I will say now, he was there, but was not at liberty to discuss the subject until I could broach it with you personally."

"So you give orders to a Prince of this Realm now?" asked Rinion in mock interest.

"Not orders, Rinion. It was a respectful request - that is when you ask someone to…"

"Yes yes, I know what it is, Legolas."

"The point being, I had had several episodes of particularly strong - _connections_ \- with the forest, so strong they wrought - physical changes…"

Thranduil scowled and Handir listened quietly, and as for Rinion, he had fallen silent.

"What - _physical_ changes?" asked the king.

With a deep breath, Legolas bolstered his courage, because he knew this would be hard to believe.

"My eyes - they - they _glow_ ," he said, immediately reaching for his wine and taking a long draught.

Scandalous laughter erupted at the table, and Rinion threw his head back, his entire body shaking in genuine mirth now.

"You _fool_ , Rinion - tis true - I have seen it, Elrond and Glorfindel too," said Handir indignantly.

"So it is _true_ , you are half orc!" he chuckled, but the sudden scrape of a chair was the only warning he had before Legolas stood before Rinion's chair, too close and the Crown Prince stood, unable to step back for the table was behind him.

"You dare compare me to an orc, Rinion - one more time and Crown Prince or no I will curb your _tongue_!"

" _Enough!_ " said Thranduil, standing and sending a warning glare to the feuding brothers.

"Sit down, both of you."

Moments later, both were sitting once more, and Handir shared a worried glance with his father.

"Now, where were we?" said the king.

"The glowing eyes, father," said Rinion, a smirk on his face.

Legolas breathed deeply, for to lose his concentration when talking about this subject was disheartening, it was difficult enough as it was, and in truth he understood Rinion, in spite of his mockery.

"These episodes had been increasing, both in frequency and strength and Lord Elrond took it upon himself to help me with - whatever it was. His suggestion was to provoke an incident so that he may observe it."

"Thranduil swallowed his wine but his eyes did not leave those of his youngest son.

"We - we took a walk in the gardens of Imladris; me, Elrond, Glorfindel and - something happened…"

"Well? don't leave us hanging, Legolas, tell us the story," said Rinion, his tone sarcastic, but he had given himself away for there had been a note of interest he had failed to disguise.

"I saw - the past, the future."

Silence descended over the small family, save for Legolas' slightly heavier breathing. He was anxious and there was nothing he could do to hide it.

"So this - _ability_ \- you are not a listener…?" guessed Thranduil, leaning forward until his blue eyes bored disbelievingly into this son's green eyes.

"No, not a listener…" he said slowly, his own eyes lifting to his father now, for what he had to say.

"I am a _Protege_ …"

Silence reigned once more, until Rinion broke it. "What is a Protege?" he asked.

It was Handir who answered, for Thranduil had been struck dumb.

"A Protege, is an elf chosen - by the _Valar_ ," he whispered.

Legolas' eyes were fixed on the table now, as if he anticipated anger.

"Who?" asked Thranduil, "who chose you?" he asked, his eyes bright as they danced over his son's face.

Lifting his face to meet his father's, he revealed his secret for the first time. "Yavanna; Kementari."

Thranduil's eyes widened and then he sat back, silent and shocked.

"How did you find out? Did Elrond tell you?" asked Thranduil, as if dazed.

"No. I was summoned into the forest. The knowledge came to me there…"

"He was," began Handir, knowing how difficult it was for his brother to speak of this. "He was away for days and we waited for him, until he finally emerged - changed physically by - whatever it was that happened in there. His glow was brighter, his hair longer…"

Thranduil blew out a long, steadying breath and Rinion, surprisingly, held his peace, simply sitting and drinking.

"So," began Thranduil. "You were summoned and then told you had been chosen - chosen for what?"

And there it was, the point Legolas had wanted to reach.

"To carry out her bidding, father. I am to protect the forests, and the people within."

"You have been speaking with Erthoron," came the sarcastic comment from Rinion. "He has convinced you to spurt this nonsense to bolster his claim on you - it stinks of Silvan superstition.

Legolas closed his eyes in exasperation.

"Rinion, hold your tongue," barked Thranduil.

"I know nothing of Erthoron, have not seen him since before the journey to Imladris, Rinion."

"Rinion," said Handir. "This is what Mithrandir and Glorfindel have withheld from you. I know they reported to you yesterday, and I know they would have said nothing until Legolas had had the chance to tell you personally, indeed that was the plan. There can be no denying the facts father, Rinion. We were all there, we all saw it, Mithrandir knows this is true."

"And I cannot doubt it - but others _will_ ," said Thranduil, unable to resist a fleeting glance at Rinion.

"I am not impaired, father. I will not gainsay these claims, but you are right. This will complicate everything. This mission - you have a plan, of course," said Rinion, and for the first time, Legolas saw sincerity in his brothers' eyes, keen interest.

"Yes, I have a plan, Rinion. I must have a measure of freedom to do this- I cannot ride under the complete orders of another, not if the forest requests my presence."

"Hence the need for a command," deduced Rinion.

"Yes," said Legolas. And yet, I know I am not ready for that, not completely. I have been preparing for it since I was a child but still, I need experience in the field."

"Preparing since you were a child? But you only just found out," said Thranduil.

"Yes, but my ambition, has always been the same. To be a Captain," he smiled in fond remembrance. "And to that end I have leaned, I have read books, I have trained, I have done everything I could to be the best version of myself I could possibly be."

"Well you _do_ love yourself," murmured Rinion.

Legolas stood once more, his patience spent. " _Someone_ has to…" he said, before bowing to the king, and leaving the room, his patience finally spent, his exhaustion and grief coming to the fore once more.

He walked and walked until he was outside, aware that Dorhinen followed him but he did not stop until he was at the gates. Nodding at the guard who stood before an open doorway, he walked through it. He was outside now and the air was different - here he was understood and he in turn understood. Soon he was making for the treeline, his hands itching to touch the green leaves, the rough barks, his mind tingling. He sought comfort, in the only source he knew it lay, unconditionally.

'Come, come, lay down and rest…'

And he did.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Back at the fortress, Thranduil sat in the living area of his rooms, his two sons sitting on the sofas, waiting for him to speak for he would, and he would not be pleased.

 _'Well you do love yourself…'_

 _'Someone has to…'_

"Why Rinion - why are so infantile?"

"It is my way, father, you know that."

"Have you ever considered _changing_ it?" he asked in irritation. "You know, your selfishness does not go unmarked, Rinion. The child was nervous enough as it was, without your sarcasm."

"You ask much, father. You ask me to welcome your bastard child into our family as if he had nothing to do with my mother's departure. On top of that I am to hear he is ready to study as a captain, that he is a Protege!"

"You cannot change the facts, Rinion," began Handir, "just because you want to. Legolas is what he is, he never meant to hurt you intentionally. Can you not see the elf standing before you? Must you see only the consequences of someone else's folly?"

Thranduil turned to Handir in respect, before turning back to Rinion. "Well?" he prompted.

"It seems I must," he said. "I will not embrace him as a brother, this I have already made clear. He will find no help or support from me. Having said that I can, grudgingly, agree to not purposefully hurt him."

After a short silence, Handir spoke, a soft smile on his face.

"You know, you may hate me for saying this, brother, but your really have met your match…"

"What do you mean?" scowled Rinion.

"You are two sides of the same coin. You are both volatile, bold, unpredictable, _vulnerable…_ "

Thranduil was even more impressed now, because Handir was right, they were so similar. Yet Legolas had a capacity that Rinion did not and he wondered if it was the Silvan side of him, for he was humble and disciplined, and where Rinion had failed, Legolas would succeed.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Glorfindel walked in blessed silence. He had shed his warrior attire and wore only a light blue tunic, his loose hair flowing around his shoulders as the forest breeze toyed with it playfully.

Turning his head, he followed his instincts, and soon enough, he came upon the one he sought - Legolas.

"I thought I may find you here," he said. "I saw Handir earlier, and Dorhinen was a little, unnerved that you managed to give him the slip," he smiled kindly.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to a rock at Legolas' side.

"Of course," came the far away voice.

"Your first royal drink?"

"Yes," came the same, absent voice.

"It did not go well…" deduced the Noldo

"It went better than I expected, in some ways," came the longer answer and Legolas finally turned his head to look at his friend.

"Did you tell them?"

"That I am a Protege, yes. But I could not explain my plans, for Rinion's sarcasm got the best of me."

"Rinion, yes. He is problematic, yet it seems it is not just you, Legolas, if that is any consolation."

Glorfindel was met with silence, for Legolas was not entirely with him he knew. He had wanted to ask of how things had gone with Thranduil, but he knew that now was not the time.

"You think of the meeting tomorrow," said Glorfindel knowingly.

"Yes. I have not been able to fully brief the king of my intentions." He did not mention the fact that Rinion had spoken of Glorfindel's recommendations.

"I have been invited," said Glorfindel. I have many friends here that remember me still. They trust me," he said meaningfully.

"Glorfindel. You must not intervene in this. I must do this - alone."

Glorfindel studied him closely for a while before answering. "Are you sure? You will stand before every single commander that matters. They are fierce, Legolas. Strong, bold, disciplined like few others - they are almost entirely Sindar, proud of the glory days of old, when Oropher still rode in these forests. They will attack you from every flank, put you to the test until you can take no more, test the limits of your discipline, of your sense of duty, the extent of your service. If you can win _that_ battle Legolas, Handir and the King will do the rest, but if the military does not accept you - you will have no chance of fulfilling Yavanna's will here in the Greenwood.

"Yes - that is the short of it," he said. "And that is why you must not intervene, Glorfindel. I must do this, I must gain their respect - nay I must ensure their _help_. This is not only about me submitting to their will - I must find a way to show them what it is I must do and then find a way to make it possible. You must not help me, and neither must the king, Mithrandir, or anyone else."

"You are sure? You cannot risk them turning against you, Legolas. You need all the help you can get."

"No, Glorfindel. In this I am right, and however difficult it is - it must be done and if I cannot convince them, then I must find another way."

"What other way? There is no other way…"

"Yes there is, Glorfindel. I can _show_ them…"

Glorfindel stared back at Legolas, understanding shining in his eyes. "Have a care, Legolas. Guard yourself against those that would accuse you of dark arts…"

"I know - I have already been called a spawn of Morgoth," he laughed mirthlessly.

Glorfindel smiled, but his worry was still there, stronger than it had ever been.

"I just wanted to make sure you know this meeting is not a mere formality, Legolas. They do not summon you to discuss my report, or Elrond's. They summon you to judge you, and to decide what must be done with you for right now, you are a liability to this realm. Your presence causes unrest and that - is what they are determined to put an end to."

"I understand. And what I must do is show them that I am not a liability - I am an asset. I have no enemies here - _I_ am not the problem - _they_ are…" he said and for a moment, Glorfindel thought his green eyes shone brighter, more translucent.

"You are bolder than I thought if you are going to walk in there and tell them that," he said, his anxiety rising dangerously now.

"I have no choice, Glorfindel. That is my mission, my duty to Yavanna, I never thought it would be easy."

If Glorfiindel had thought to ease Legolas' mind he had ended up doing the opposite, and with it he had found a way to worry himself sleepless. The Silvan seemed to have everything so clear in his mind, and yet Glorfindel knew these warriors, knew this army better than many and for all Legolas' confident words, he was not at all sure he really understood just how cruel the commanders could be - not for cruelty's sake, but in the defence of the realm they were charged with protecting - in that they would stop at nothing.


	52. The Inner Circle I

Author's notes:

I would like to thank Philosophie for her input on training tactics in the U. - very helpful, thank you. I would also like to thank Mystic Folly for pointing out an incongruence back in chapter four.

TSTTTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Lara: Ah, so it was you - ok! Glad you enjoyed that. The meeting is starting, and will continue over to the next chapter too, so hope you like it! Gracias amiga!

Guest 1345: Thank you! Hope you like the Inner Circle!

Noph: hahahaha, thanks! You really have it in for Rinion, don't you! Poor prince.

Guests: Thank you very much ! :)

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Chapter 52: The Inner Circle Part I

He was more nervous than he had been in a long, long time, for Glorfindel's words from the previous evening had been haunting him, even in his restless sleep. Perhaps he should have listened, consented to his presence for the meeting, asked more questions on what it was that was to happen.

It was too late now and so, cursing his own pig-headedness, he prepared himself as he would for a patrol in the forest.

He had yet to arm himself, instead carrying his new bow, quiver and knives in his hand, for first there was breakfast to attend, the first of his battles for the day. Not that he was hungry though for his stomach was clenched shut and it made him feel childish, unable to control his mounting trepidation. Everything rested on the outcome of this day, and should things not go to plan, what would Yavanna think of that? His mind played boyishly with the notion of an angry Vala, scolding him as an irate mother would, or perhaps cutting off the glorious hair she had regaled him with.

With a mental snort, he shook his head and left for the dining room, alone save for the Sindarin shadow that followed him everywhere he went.

Silence met him as it so often did now, and in spite of the packed hall, only whispers and murmurs were heard.

At one table, The Company sat together with Glorfindel, and at the High Table, sat the king, the two princes, and Mithrandir, a small mercy, realised Legolas, for he was being ushered to sit next to Handir and he could not refuse, and so, under the careful stare of his friends and his own, apologetic shrug, he bowed to king and princes, and then sat.

"Morning brother," murmured Handir.

"Handir," he acknowledged simply.

"Legolas," said the wizard as he ate his breakfast. "How is that shoulder?"

"Much better Mithrandir. I need to train if I am to get it back to full use, but it does not hinder me, thank you," he said, eating sparingly for he knew he would need the nourishment and yet his stomach did not agree.

"Legolas. I have invited Lords Glorfindel, Elladan and Mithrandir, to dinner this evening" said the king as he ate. "I understand they have many tales of your time in Imladris to regale us with."

"There is much to say, indeed," said Legolas, but spoke no more and the king watched him from the corner of his eye, shrewd wisdom behind his calculating grey eyes, and Mithrandir had not missed it.

"Well, I for one wish you luck for today, Legolas. I think you may need it," said the wizard with a hint of amusement, but Legolas' face turned a little sour. He could have done with a little encouragement yet everyone was completely tight-lipped about the Inner Circle and his stomach flipped once more.

It was no good, he could not eat and so he stood, bowed, and removed himself from the hall, just as he had arrived, amidst a sea of screaming silence.

"He is restless," said Mithrandir to no one in particular.

"Yes," replied Rinion, "and well he should be."

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He walked slowly towards the barracks, for there was still time, time to compose himself, to enter that state of mind in which only his logic and reasoning would dictate his actions and his words. There was no kingly father, no antagonistic brother, no lost mother, no people to convince, no magic to understand or friends to mourn - only his mind and its ability to control his emotions, his temper.

With every step he took, his mind began to shut and lock doors, open others, block the negative sensations and bring to the fore only the good things; his mission, his Vala, the voice of the forest as it bolstered his courage and tempered his spirit.

They were at the gates to the barracks now, and Legolas turned to Dorhinen, wondering why his guard would startle as he did.

"You cannot follow, not today, Dorhinen."

"I must," he answered.

"No. Please. Stay here. Nothing will happen to me in there, Dorhinen, nothing I cannot defend myself from."

"I am under the orders from the king, Legolas. It is not for me to decide."

"Leave him," came the authoritative voice of Captain Dunorel. "He is under military jurisdiction now, it is our orders that are to be carried out here, this you know, Lieutenant."

Dorhinen was torn, but he was sure of his orders and the king's orders had priority.

"I must obey the orders of my King first, Captain. He has not changed them. I am to stay with him."

Dunorel stared long at Dorhinen, and then nodded slowly. "Then you will both accompany me to Commander General Celegon's office."

"Captain," acknowledged Dorhinen with a curt nod.

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They were soon walking into a vast square courtyard, their boots clicking over the stone and echoing around the walls, the silence was absolute, in spite of the one hundred and two captains that stood in a circle, watching them with narrowed eyes. This was the Inner Circle, the Greenwood's centre of military power - these were the elves that Legolas knew he must convince and his mouth was suddenly as dry as the plains of Harad.

They were magnificent to look upon. Their uniforms, their armour, their braids and their predominantly blond hair. The fierceness of their faces, the strength that rippled below their breastplates - this was where Legolas wanted to be - this was what he had dreamed of since he was a young child.

Dunorel led Legolas and Dorhinen into an office that looked out over the courtyard, where Celegon sat waiting at his table, General Huron standing at his shoulder.

All three elves saluted the Commander General, who stood to return it, his eyes lingering on Dorhinen.

"Lieutenant. You are relieved of your duty until this meeting is concluded."

"Commander General, I am under orders from the King, I cannot obey your order."

Celegon stared at the frosty Sinda, knowing he was right.

"Then listen carefully to what I will say now. You are bound to secrecy from this moment forward, and you are not at liberty to intervene. Do you understand?"

"I will not intervene, unless his life is at risk."

"So be it," sighed the Commander.

As soon as Captain Dunorel had left, Celegon turned to the Silvan.

"Legolas, we are here to discuss Commander General Glorfindel's recommendations after your training period in Imladris and to this end," said the Captain purposefully, "we will put you to the test. _However_ ," he emphasised, pausing to look carefully at the silvan warrior, "this will be no ordinary test. This will not be our standard protocol test and let me tell you why," he said purposefully, his eyes including all those in the room.

Firstly, there is the question of the extraordinary claims that Glorfindel makes here, especially in relation to your age; you are seven hundred and forty five, correct?"

"Yes, Commander General."

"You see, there are no lieutenants under the age of one thousand five hundred, and no captains under two thousand…"

Legolas pursed his lips and looked to the floor for he knew this, he knew almost everything there was to know of the Greenwood's military.

"Secondly, you may be aware of the political unrest in the forrest. After the Greenwood Summit, there have been requests from the Silvan people regarding your status, Legolas," said Celegon carefully, his shrewd eyes fixed meaningfully on those of the Silvan."

Legolas frowned, for he had no idea what the Commander was talking about. Celegon glanced at Huron, who stepped forward.

"Legolas," began Huron, "the Silvans have requested their own military leader, a specialist, if you will, on forest combat, one who understands the needs and difficulties of life amongst the trees - they want, a _Silvan_ commander."

Legolas stood listening intently to what the General said, but could not grasp why there were discussing politics with him.

"Have you read anything along these lines? I am told you are an avid reader," said Celegon.

"I have read of the Silvan and Avarin warriors of old, their tactics, weaponry, their beliefs and supersititions, yes," he said.

"Then you will know of the figure of the Silvan Warlord?"

"Yes…" answered Legolas, his face starting to show the dawning realisation. "They have requested a Silvan Warlord?" he blurted, eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Yes…" said Celegon, but there is more…

There was that look again, between the Commander and the General, and Legolas steeled himself for what they would say now for he knew they had come to the crux of the question, the real reason for so much secrecy.

"They want _you_ …"

Legolas' ears rang, he could feel his own eyes widen and his mouth hang loose but he could not school himself for his heart hammered in his chest and he needed to sit down.

"Legolas…."

He could not speak, so shocked he was for he did not understand it at all.

"You did not suspect - any of this?" asked Celegon.

"No," he whispered. All his self control had gone, all his mental preparation had been insufficient, he could not do it. He was swimming in a sea of confusion and disbelief.

"I don't understand…."

"Neither do we," said Celegon, "so you see, the importance of the matter?"

"I am a - _child_ \- to them, I am a lowly warrior I - I have no standing in the army, not yet. I am a son of the king but I am not a prince, I am not high born. _Why?_ "

"The question, Legolas, is that they are adamant about this and harsh words have been exchanged. They have organised and threatened to turn their backs on the king should their demand be ignored - they force our hand and yet we cannot accept such a request for you are too young, too inexperienced, and - we do not know of your loyalties…"

"I - I understand," he babbled, his mind still reeling. "But why, why did the king not brief me? I should have known…"

"We asked him not to. This is first and foremost a question of the military. If we had left it to the king it would have become a politically orientated debate and that we could not risk. I am sure you are aware of the Sindarin purists and their pretensions - they would have blocked any attempts at giving the Silvans what they want."

"So you are saying the army is considering accepting their petition?" asked Legolas in disbelief.

"We must. The threat is too great. The bulk of this army is Silvan and if we are to hold ourselves together, we must have their loyalty and it seems the only way to achieve that, is to give them their Warlord."

"How has it come to this…?" he asked, almost to himself.

"You have been a warrior for less than two years yet I wager it has been time enough for you to see the discrimination. It has been left to fester for so long, gone unchecked so that injustice has ruled and they see no other way to regain our respect."

"Yes, it does make sense," said Legolas. "Forgive me, Commander, but I had not - anticipated - "

"Of course you had not, and that speaks well of you. But you see now, what we are up against?"

"Oh yes - yes Commander I do."

And he did, indeed as the shock wore off and the possibilities began to emerge in his mind, he began to realise how utterly - _convenient_ \- this was.

"We would know of your loyalties, your objectives, your ability on and off the battle field and finally, we will decide your fate, for it seems that cannot be separated from the growing tension between the Sindar and Silvan people of this land."

He paused here, stood and turned to the window to look upon the commanders that waited for them outside.

"The people are divided, Legolas. The Silvans look to you and the Sindar reject you for what you represent. Tension is rising and every day that passes we are a day closer to civil unrest. This army must take a good look at you and decide where it stands - with you, or against you…"

"I understand."

"You know, Legolas, that we have already served together - I have seen you fight and then I have seen stranger things, although I have not seen you interact with other warriors and commanders. You have my respect for your bravery on our journey to Imladris and you have my sympathy but," he emphasised as he leant forward, "that does not mean you have everyone's approval. This is an opportunity that could very well put a stop to this Sindar-Silvan bickering but I warn you, some of those captains out there would gladly see you fail in this and although they are good commanders, some are not willing to open doors to our Silvan warriors. I do not condone this but I _do_ know, that the only way to stop their discrimination, is to show them they are wrong."

"I understand," said Legolas.

"Do you? For you see, you will be questioned, interrogated if I know some of those captains well. You will be insulted and you will be pushed to your limits in more ways than one. They have their questions, their doubts, there prejudices and all these things must be addressed if we are to make things right. You have heard of the trials a Lieutenant must undergo in order to become a Captain?"

"I have, said Legolas, a frown on his face now.

"This is a similar test, Legolas. A test of your own endurance, your skill, your discipline, your intentions. It will not be pleasant and you will not be treated kindly. Do you understand?"

After a moment of silence, Legolas answered, his face neutral once more.

"I understand, Commander General."

Celegon held his gaze for a moment, because for the first time he had seen a spark of fear behind those strange green eyes. Thranduil's warrior son was nervous but more than this he had not been able to hide it. It was a timely reminder that this warrior was younger than any other that had ever aspired to a command and a pang of doubt assailed him. Were they doing the right thing? His insecurity did not last long though, for when he thought of the possible consequences of _not_ doing this, everything was worth the risk, even this.

He turned resolutely to Dunorel.

"You may commence," he said formally.

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Inside the walled building, Legolas stood in the middle of an ample courtyard, amidst the Greenwood's Captains, General and Commander General. One hundred and two warriors, ninety of them Sindarin, and only twelve Silvan.

The Captains stared on, their eyes expectant, analysing, weighing him up, inspecting every part of him, from the tip of his boots to the last Avarin braid high upon his head.

But Legolas did not meet their eyes, instead staring off into the space before him, focussed on nothing at all save for his own body and mind, desperate to find that space where only his warrior self functioned. It did not work though for his mind was still reeling with what Celegon had just disclosed.

There were murmurs amongst the captains, and Dorhinen stood discreetly behind them, ensuring for himself a good vantage point should he be needed.

General Huron stepped forward, calling for silence.

"We will begin by reading Lord Glorfindel's report," he stated, and but minutes later, when Huron had done just that, the Captains broke out into a heated discussion, their agitation rising at what they obviously considered folly.

Huron raised his hands for silence and then stepped towards Legolas who stood quietly, his face carefully schooled, in spite of the words of praise from Glorfindel.

"Do you agree with this?" asked Huron somewhat aggresively.

Legolas took a deep breath before answering, for his words would need clarifying, if they would let him.

"That is not for me to say, Sir."

Huron stepped closer. "Why?"

"I am not qualified to give an opinion."

"Clarify, warrior."

"I do not have the knowledge or experience to know if Lord Glorfindel's words should be acted upon."

Silence ensued Legolas' words, before Captain Dunorel shattered it.

"Commander Glorfindel," said Dunorel in a voice that carried around the courtyard, makes his recommendations based on these points; skill at arms, capacity for leadership and sound strategical analysis. I warn you, warrior. This has never happened before, this, unbelievable report from one we hold in high esteem must not be taken lightly, and in spite of our words we do not discredit the Lord Glorfindel.

Legolas was confused, for they said it was folly and yet they claimed they did not doubt Glorfindel's report.

It must have shown on his face, in spite of his best efforts and his eyes strayed for the first time to meet those of the captain, and the moment they did, a resounding smack echoed around the stone courtyard as Dunorel's open palm slapped Legolas' face, whipping it to the side in a flurry of hair.

Legolas righted himself, shocked that they would physically harm him and he tried once more to control himself. 'Discipline, control!' he screamed at himself in exasperation.

Dunorel leered at him. "Are we confused, warrior? Do you not understand us? Did you think we would just stand by and implement all that Commander Glorfindel of Imladris says? And if we did, do you think your instant promotion would be understood? accepted? _respected?_ "

Captain Thoron stepped forward then, a Sindarin Captain Legolas remembered standing next to Dunorel last night at Dimaethor's funeral.

"They call you the Silvan," he began. "Are you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And what makes you think a Silvan can become a Captain, after one year as a warrior?"

"I do not think it."

"You have an opinion!" he shouted.

"I have a wish only."

"You - bastard son, raised by a Silvan peasant in some Valar-forsaken village, with delusions of becoming a Captain. A _child_ of but seven hundred and forty four years to his name - _you_ \- believe you are capable?" he sneered.

They were goading him, measuring his endurance. He knew that but it did not make it any easier to bear.

"Yes."

"A simple, lowly Silvan child with the hair of a _woman_ and the eyes of a _demon_ \- you dare to use your father's name to gain favour in this, hallowed institution?"

"No."

"No what!"

"I do not use my father's name to gain favour - I never _will_ ," and again, his eyes had slipped to those of Thoron. Sure enough, his head was whipped to the side as he was slapped by the Sindarin Captain.

Thoron swivelled on his heels and joined his fellow captains.

It was a Silvan captain who approached now, his honey-coloured eyes fixed on Legolas, watching him as if he were a hunted animal.

"You would not use your father's name to climb the ranks?" he asked rhetorically, "are you ashamed, of who you are? Ashamed to be the bastard son of the king? The son that is not a prince? Are you jealous of your brother Rinion who rides as Lieutenant?"

"No."

"Liar!" he shouted. "By the time we have finished with you and passed on our recommendations, you will run to your father - what will he think of this? he asked, before he punched Legolas straight in the face, sending him to the floor for he had not expected it at all.

"That will bruise; will you tell your daddy who did this? Beg him to strike me off the list of commanders? Demote me for my folly?" he shouted down at the Silvan who slowly rose to his feet.

"No."

The Silvan captain's eyes lingered for a while on Legolas' face before he turned, and walked back to his place.

"A soldier threw a stone at you … you confronted him … why?" asked another captain as he slowly approached Legolas.

"It is unbecoming to strike down a fellow warrior."

"Like Lanthir just did to you?"

"No."

"It is not the same?" asked the Captain.

"No."

"Ellaborate."

"That warrior struck me in hatred and anger, Captain Lanthir did not."

For the first time, the Captains seemed surprised at his answer, indeed this new interrogator's eyes narrowed.

"And what does that matter? It smarts just the same…"

"No, it does not. Warriors must not fight amongst themselves, it is deplorable and dishonourable - I will not do it."

The silence was absolute then, until Huron stepped forward.

"That warrior - a Sinda by the name of Darion, was training as a Second Lieutenant. He is to be judged and foreseeably will be stripped of that right. He will not be able to submit a second request for another fifty years. What is your opinion on that?"

"May I ask a question, General?" asked Legolas respectfully.

"You may."

"Is he a good warrior?"

The captains shared a puzzled look amongst themselves as Huron answered.

"Yes. He showed much potential, indeed for us to accept a request to train as a second lieutenant, it can be no other way. He is skilled with the sword and shows potential at strategy."

"Then I do not agree with the ruling."

Huron frowned and then circled Legolas as he spoke.

"You abhor one warrior turning against the other, Darion threw a stone at you, a Lord, in public, and you do not agree to his demotion? Tell me then, what would you do with him?"

"I would speak with him. Darion shamed himself, as a warrior of this realm. He also humiliated me, insulted me in the worst possible way and hence he has insulted his own king. Yet I also believe he is following the dictates of others. I believe he could be re-educated."

"So you would simply speak with him, give him a hug and be done with it?" mocked Huron.

"No, General. I agree there should be some form of punishment, but if he is contrite, if he truly sees the folly of his misconduct, can this realm afford to lose the services of an able warrior?"

"And if he does not rectify his behaviour?"

"Then I would agree with the ruling as it stands."

"Would you apply that rule of thumb always?"

"No, only in situations in which a schism is forming, one that threatens to tear our society in two. Situations in which, should weakness be shown, others may take advantage to press their own claims. It is the military that knows this better than anyone. By showing strength we show determination, leadership yet not in detriment of fair judgement."

The captains had moved slightly closer, for Huron's words seemed to be getting softer and softer.

"You believe that is the situation? Here in the Greenwood?"

"Yes, yes I do. The cultural divide is becoming dangerous, fuelled by those that seek their own, personal gain. I believe it is we, who must protect our people from such destructive ambition, bring this land back together, strong as it once was."

Celegon's frown was deeply etched on his face. "You do not believe we are strong now?"

"We are divided. The Sindar throw stones at the Silvans, impede their passage to command, mock their military skills, treat them as second-class warriors and the Silvans - the Silvans cower in resentment and frustration, insult their commanders when they think they cannot be heard, flock together and reject the Sindar for they believe them to be all the same. We _are_ divided and therefore, we _are_ weak."

"You think all Sindarin commanders treat their silvan warriors thusly?"

"Enough of them, yes. How many Silvans are in this courtyard now? How many of our Captains are Silvan? A tenth perhaps. Why would this be? We have the same bodies, the same minds and therefore the same capacities."

"You speak nonsense," shouted a Sindarin Captain.

"Aye," agreed another. "I do not treat my Silvan warriors as you say. They are loyal and disciplined and I have no reason to complain."

"But _they_ do, Captain," said Legolas, stepping forward a little. "They serve for that is their wish, but their complaints are legitimate - however well they serve their chances of a command are remote - _they_ \- have reason to complain."

"I do not believe that," said the Captain, less aggressively now.

"Because you cannot see it. They do not show it because to do so is to go against power. How many Sindarin commanders here, are sons of Lords?" he asked boldly now. "How many trainee lieutenants and captains are sons of _Lords?_ "

"You are the son of a lord," shouted another.

"And I never asked for that. You asked me a question earlier, if I would use my father's name to climb the ranks and I said no - never. I have become a warrior and I have lived this discrimination, seen it and as such I do not want it for myself or for any other. I want a command on my own merits, and that is how I believe it should work."

"So," said another captain, walking forward boldly until he stood before Legolas, a little too close for comfort. "I am the son of Lord Draugole. Do you suggest then, that I am unfit for command? That I am a Captain because my father is a Lord?" he asked challengingly.

"I do not state it is your case for I do not know, but that is a possibility, yes."

There were more gasps for this was Brethil Draugolion, Master swordsman,

The Captain's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Someone needs to teach you a lesson, boy. You have no respect for the Sindarin lords. Thankfully, I will later have the chance to show you why you _should_ …"

He smiled, the promise of suffering behind his twisted lips, before returning to the circle.

"I must say - you are pretty," said Captain Barathon drolly as he began to circle the Silvan. "I mean," he said, daring to touch Legolas' long hair, "no male has hair this long - no real, _male_ …" he said challengingly as he let the light blond locks fall through his fingers.

"Have you ever done it, with a male?" he asked, a daring grin growing on his Sindarin face.

Tirion looked to the heavens in despair. Dorhinen's jaw worked furiously and Huron's eyes sharpened dangerously, but they remained silent.

"I will not answer that," came Legolas' barely controlled answer. He had let his control slip, again, and Barathon had seen it.

"You will not answer because it is true? Or are you embarrassed? Perhaps you are a virgin, yet untried?"

Again, Legolas did not answer, for he was too busy trying to quell his rising temper.

"Oh dear - are you angry, my boy?" he mocked, and then flicked one of Dimaethor's Avarin braids. It was too much.

Legolas' left hand shot out and grasped Barathon's wrist bruisingly, pulling the Sinda towards his now, snarling face.

"Do not _touch_ that," he warned.

"Unhand me," came the measured reply from Barathon, and Legolas realized just how far he had let his temper slip.

Stepping back, Barathon cocked his head to one side.

"You must be a virgin, or perhaps a eunuch, for you do not have the _balls_ to strike me, do you?" he goaded.

Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly found the air brutally knocked from his lungs, Barathon's fist buried deep in his mid section.

Doubling over he struggled for breath, gasping loudly until the spasm ended.

"You, who does not condone one warrior striking out in anger to another, dare to stay your commander's hand?"

"I did not strike you, I blocked you. You struck me," gasped Legolas.

Before he knew what was happening, his legs were swept from under him and he landed awkwardly upon the stone floor.

Dorhinen made to step forward, but Dunorel's arm stopped him.

Rising slowly, Legolas closed his eyes for a moment. He could not allow this captain to rile him, indeed he was ashamed that he had already lost it.

"So is it true - are you a virgin? Do you like boys?" sneered Barathon.

"I will not answer that question."

A fist grabbed at his hair again and Legolas let him. Barathon pulled on it painfully and then threw him to the floor, pulling loose one of his side braids.

"Get up and answer my question!" he shouted, and Legolas could see Barathon was enjoying this too much, and that was his weakness. Legolas had seen it, and he hoped the other captains had, too.

Standing tall once more, he squared himself.

"Well?"

"I will not answer that question."

Barathon's face was turning red and Legolas prepared himself.

A fist connected with the side of his mouth, sending him to his knees. Taking his hand slowly to his cut lip, he stood once more and squared himself.

"Well?" came Barathon's question again, only this time his voice was not steady but bordering on anger.

"I will not answer that question."

Another punch caught him in the temple and Legolas saw stars, unable to stop his body from lunging to one side, just before his knees buckled and he fell once more to the ground. He was not so quick to rise now, for vertigo assailed him - he could not coordinate himself and for a moment he simply sat and breathed deeply.

"Fool!" spat Barathon, and then he was gone.

Dorhinen and Tirion looked on in unveiled concern as the other captains began to talk quietly amongst themselves. Although it was quiet, it was not enough to be completely ignored, and Dorhinen heard the odd name here and there. "Barathon, Brethil…"

Legolas had moved himself into a kneeling position, deciding it may not be a good idea to rise just yet and so he sat back on his haunches, taking stock of his smarting eye and throbbing lip. His stomach ached from where Barathon had winded him, but he pushed it all away. He needed to centre himself once more and it seemed that the captains realised that too.

Before long though, another elf's boots came into his line of sight.

"You! Get up."

Legolas rose, faltering for a moment before righting himself, albeit his eyes danced involuntarily for a moment until the dizziness began to dissipate.

"Evening is falling. We are hungry and our weapons need cleaning," he said, placing his sword before Legolas on the ground. Before long, a mountain of swords, knives and daggers sat on the ground before him. Someone had left oiled rags and whetting stones and soon enough, he was alone upon the ground, only two guards left to watch over him.

Lifting the first sword, he allowed his eyes to marvel at the design, the beauty of the engravings, the curve of its blade. It was beautiful and so he set to cleaning it and then honing it. An hour passed and still, he rubbed their blades and polished the hilts. His stomach grumbled and his throat was parched but all that mattered now, was the care of these weapons. It was the perfect way to clear his mind and so he allowed the rhythmic movements to lull him into a state of relative peace, distract his mind from the discomfort.

Inside, Huron spoke with Dunorel, Thoron and Lanthir, while Celegon spoke with Tirion, Barathon, Brethil and Forhen.

"You were harsh, Barathon," said Tirion as he sipped on his wine.

"Well, that is what this is about, is it not, to test him."

"And what has his sex life to do with that?" asked Forhen.

"It is a simple provocation, as good as any other."

"Did you honestly expect him to answer?" asked Tirion.

"No," he snickered.

Celegon frowned. "You are enjoying this…" he said.

"Well, just a little," grinned Barathon and then drank once more.

Celegon caught Huron's eyes and their message was clear. Barathon had shown his colours, the others too, had seen it and liked it not, and there would be consequences to be had once this trial was over. The question was, who would be joining him?


	53. The Inner Circle II

Author's notes: Morning all! OK, I was originally going to publish this tomorrow but thought it best to publish now, as a shorter chapter, just to finish off the first part of the Inner Circle. Hopefully it will clear up a few doubts some of you had and help to make the rest of the story a little clearer - well alright, except for the end! ehem.

Also, I am aware that I have not answered all of your reviews for this last chapter, but perhaps you will allow me to do that once you have read this chapter?

Thank you :))

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Chapter fifty-three: Inner Circle Part 2

Evening was fully upon them, and the wide-eyed runner returned to the king's quarters.

"The duty guard allows no one to pass the gates to the barracks, Sire. He says the Inner Circle is still gathered."

"Thank you," he said and turned inside to his guests.

"What is it?" asked Glorfindel.

"They are still working."

Glorfindel held the king's eyes for a moment before turning back to the magnificent sight of the Evergreen wood that sprawled into the horizon, as far as his eye could see. Beside him, Elladan too, admired its beauty and further out on the balcony, Mithrandir puffed on his pipe, and although his eyes too, seemed trained on the virgin forest, they were unfocussed.

"Well, if I know General Huron at all, they will be giving him a time of it," said Rinion, almost matter-of-factly."

"And that is good," added Handir, for what better way for Legolas to show his worth?"

"I only hope they see sense and do not promote him to trainee captain. Tis too much," muttered Rinion.

"You disagree then, with Commander Glorfindel's report?" asked Mithrandir with a fond smile on his face, one Rinion did not seem to appreciate at all.

"I do."

"Bold words, from a _Lieutenant_ ," said Elladan plainly.

"They are true, nonetheless."

"My report," began Glorfindel, somewhat cuttingly, states only what he is capable of, not what would or would not be wise at a given time. I mean what I say - he is capable of that, and if it is not to be, that is because by promoting him, _others_ \- would feel discriminated, 'tis that simple, my prince."

"Are you referring to me, my Lord?" asked Rinion boldly with a challenge in his eye.

"No, my Prince, not specifically. I say only that others, would feel discriminated. You would know, of course, If I was right," he said, and Handir smiled at his wit.

Rinion, however, did not, but he did nod and did not press the point.

"Well then, let us dine, my friends. I have much to brief you on."

After a while, when the small talk was done and they had sated their appetites, the king leaned forward to speak.

"It is time to tell you of what the Inner Circle discusses."

Elladan, Mithrandir and Glorfindel shared puzzled expressions.

"They do not discuss my report? His future in the army?" asked Glorfindel.

"They do, but there is more - much more. You see, the Greenwood Summit of which I briefly informed you," began the king, catching Mithrandir's curious gaze, "was much more - transcendental than you may have imagined."

From the look on their faces, Glorfindel deduced that the princes had already been briefed on whatever it was the king would say now, for they held their silence.

"You see, the Silvans have made a request, one I am unsure we can concede - they have requested their own, military representative - they have requested the return of the Silvan Warlord."

Glorfindel's eyes widened as he sat back in his chair, his skin prickling uncomfortably. It was Elladan who spoke first though.

"Where has this come from? Why now? I mean, If I am not mistaken, that figure disappeared with the arrival of the Sindar."

"Indeed, Elladan, but there is unrest, has been for many years for there is a small faction of Sindarin lords that have taken it upon themselves to spread their somewhat racist ways, in favour of a predominantly Sindarin society. It is popular talk that has stuck with many who wish for a return to the elder days of splendour. The result is that the Silvan people, especially their warriors, have been relegated to the lower ranks, in spite of their overwhelming numbers. Unchecked, this discrimination has been allowed to fester, which brings us to this point in time."

"They are rebelling…" guessed Glorfindel.

"Yes…" said the king.

"Do you know, who the instigators are, Thranduil?" asked Mithrandir.

"Oh yes - yes we know, for the most part although we suspect there are more in the shadows. You see it is my own uncle, Bandorion, brother of Oropher. His son, Barathon, is a member of the Inner Circle."

Glorfindel's lip curled at the mention of that name.

"His close collaborator is Lord Draugole, another of those we watch, and coincidentally, his son is also a member of the Inner Circle. I know for a fact that Celegon is eager to root them out, show that they did not earn that right, that their fathers manoeuvred in order to favour their offspring.

"But how did they get the rank in the first place?" asked Elladan, indignant at what the king was explaining.

"They were recommended for it, of course. A lieutenant needs but five Captains to vouch for his ability - these sons of lords had no difficulties in obtaining the necessary backing."

"It is atrocious, for the system itself is a good one but bases itself on the honour of all those involved. I am surprised so many Captains would lie and allow such unworthy warriors to become commanders, with everything that that implies," said Glorfindel.

"Don't get me wrong, Glorfiindel," said the king. "It is the minority that do it, but the question is, why did they concede to granting a rank to such unsuitable candidates? This is what we need to find out for some of us believe there is - more to their machinations than meets the eye."

"And Commander Celegon is correcting this situation, even as we speak," said Rinion.

"Perhaps, perhaps that is why this trial they put Legolas through is - what it _is_ …" mused Glorfindel. "It makes sense for he too, is the son of a Lord, they will not want to make the same mistake…"

"Indeed," said Thranduil, "I believe that is, indeed the case."

"There's something I still don't understand, Thranduil," said Glorfiindel as he tapped his bottom lip with his index finger. "The Silvans and their Warlord… what has that got to do with Legolas?" he asked, but just as he had asked the question, his forehead abruptly smoothed out. "You cannot mean…"

"They want him. They want the Silvan…"

"Elbereth," whispered Glorfindel. " _That_ is what they do - for you cannot make a decision on that without the full backing of your commanders, because the political storm would be devastating without their loyalty…" said Glorfindel, almost to himself.

"That is right, Glorfindel," began Handir. "You see, the king wished to brief Legolas before the trial, but by passing that duty on to our commanders, we give them the weight of the decision. Only that way, can we assure their loyalty when the time comes to decide, and only that way can they be sure that _this_ son of a lord is worthy of Glorfindel's recommendation."

"That was a wise decision, I believe," said Mithrandir. "They will hardly go against their own recommendations."

"True," said Rinion. "The question of course, is that our army will not condone Legolas being the Silvan Warlord if he is truly not capable, or if his loyalty can, in some way, be called into question. I know for a fact that many worry that he will take a negative stance towards the Sindar, in favour of the Silvan people - worsen an already volatile situation."

"He will not, Rinion. I know that for a fact. He has accepted his Sindarin heritage, no longer reneges it," said Elladan.

" _You_ may know that, Elladan, but we do not and more importantly, _they_ \- do not."

They were all silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, until Mithrandir spoke.

"How long have we got, before a decision must be made?" he asked.

The king looked at him plainly. "Two days, Mithrandir. We have two days."

"Why only two days?" asked Glorfindel.

"Because the Silvans are coming, Glorfindel. The forest comes to hear the decision of the king. They will be here in two days."

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Hours later, Legolas made one final swipe of the stone over the magnificent blade he held reverently in his aching hand, and then lay it down next to the others. His nose tickled and he reached up to scratch it, only to find it bled.

He sniffled and then wiped it away, just as the captains left the hall and surrounded him once more, their eyes wide at the sight before them, for there, under the light of a waxing moon, lay their blades, presented in a semi-circle, the accompanying knives and daggers beside their larger brothers. They had been placed according to age and origin and their disbelieving eyes spotted their own weapons and took them up to inspect the impeccable work.

Tirion smiled and then startled, for he could have sworn that Dorhinen's lips had twitched.

"Get up."

Legolas stood once more, his uniform dishevelled and his braids sticking out on one side. One eye was shadowed and the corner of his mouth was split. A trickle of blood ran from his nose which was slightly swollen and there was a red blotch on his temple.

"What is it you want?" asked Thoron as he stepped forward.

"I want to be a captain."

"Why?"

"To serve the forest and her people."

"And those that do not live in the forest? Those of us that live here? The Sindar?" he said.

"We all live in the forest, be it under the trees or around them - there is no difference."

"You would serve the Sindar then? as fervently as you would the Silvan people?"

"There is no difference."

"Of course there is a difference. We are different, you will it or not."

"The colour of our hair or eyes, or the hue of our skin - what does that matter?" asked Legolas, knowing he was pushing his luck now.

"But you, are _Silvan!_ You make a point of it, don't you. You are ashamed of your Sindarin heritage - aren't you, admit it you half-breed bastard - you can't stand the Sindar people because they are your father's people, the elf that swept you aside without a thought, abandoned you to a life of shame and ridicule - that -is why you hate us, isn't it!" he shouted mercilessly, and Legolas flinched at his words. But he did not fall for it, for while that _had_ been true, it no longer was.

"I am not ashamed of my Sindarin heritage."

"You lie!"

"No. I do not lie. You would be right had you asked me that question a year ago. But it is no longer so, the name _the Silvan_ has simply stuck because it is ironic - I do not _look_ Silvan, it seems…"

Someone snorted in mirth but was summarily silenced, and Thoron returned to the circle of captains.

Another took his place and circled him, his arms clasped behind his back.

"They say you single-handedly protected a caravan of wounded elves on your way to Imladris. Why single-handedly?" he asked curtly.

"It was the only way. Four injured and impaired, three injured but unimpaired and the threat of wargs but hours away. Had they attacked we would all have been killed. By falling back I would indeed be alone but I would have a chance at distracting them."

"With the smell of blood on the air, you would not have been able. You put your own life at risk and left the caravan with its only able-bodied elf to defend them."

"No. I knew my chances of defending them were increased if I moved away from them and towards the enemy."

"It doesn't make sense unless you explain _why_ your chances were better - so tell us - why?"

There was no way Legolas could answer this question without making reference to his abilities, but then he would have to discuss that, sooner or later. The question was, that if they were already attacking him, after he told them of his status as a Protege, they would all but tear him apart.

"My chances were better because I was able to predict the enemy's movement."

Silence ensued until Thoron spoke once more.

"How - would you do that?"

Legolas' eyes slipped to the onlooking captains of their own accord - hesitating visibly before he spoke.

"I - have an ability."

"Another one!" exclaimed Thoron - "What a star you are! Pray tell us what this new skill is!" he asked sarcastically and Legolas mentally cursed. This was the second time he had had to explain something so difficult, under the pressure of mockery.

"I can communicate with the trees," he said simply, hoping this would be enough, indeed it had to be. Too much information on his status was not going to help him.

"You are a listener?" asked Thoron.

"Yes," said Legolas quietly. It was not a lie, just a gross understatement.

"What? Speak up you fool, what did you say?!"

"I said yes, I am a listener."

He tried to steady himself, harden himself. Hs eyes strayed to the warriors still watching from the first floor, and then to the Inner Circle.

"So you see, Silvan," spat Thoron. "You are not Sindarin for you have the magic of the Silvan people - you are loyal to them, not the Sindar."

"I am loyal to my _king,_ " said Legolas, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice for he was tired, and they had gone over this so many times already.

"So you say…" said Thoron. "Kneel, and do not move until you're ordered to," he instructed and with that, the captains disappeared once more.

Inside, a heated argument had begun…

"There were rumours, Thoron, that he was a listener. Dimaethor said this himself, and Tirion - you would know, you have ridden with him," said Dunorel.

"If you would let me speak, I would shed some light on this, yes.

"Go on," coaxed Huron.

"I knew he was a listener, yes. He had various episodes while we served together. He was still unaware of his ability and it frightened him. Dimaethor was there too. He successfully warned us of enemy presence and he was not wrong. That he is a listener there can be do doubt, and a good one at that.

"Why did you not tell us of this before, Tirion?" asked Huron.

I arrived only the day before yesterday. Lainion perished and I had time only to prepare myself for today.

Celegon nodded. "The same happened on our way to Imladris. He tried to warn us of a double ambush but Silor wasted precious time antagonising him, with the results you all already know of. I would also share with you something I myself witnessed in Elrond's study, as we took council together. There was a moment in which Legolas had a - somewhat strong emotional response - and I swear I saw a drooping plant move itself, until it stood upright. It was speculated even then that the boy had some sort of - ability - green magic, perhaps."

"Then there is certainly enough evidence to at least give Legolas a chance, would you not say?" asked Tirion, pushing his advantage now. "I say we move on, measure his skills as a warrior and strategist and then we take council together."

"Alright," said Celegon. "Tirion is right and we do not have much time. Scouts have already reported the approach of the Silvans. They flock to the fortress by the hundreds and they will want their answer. We are together in this. We stick to the facts and we put him to the test, but I want no repetition of any prejudiced behaviour," he warned, his eyes lingering on Brethil and Barathon.

"We move on then, to phase two. Standard protocol applies as of now and," he emphasised, "we have a wounded warrior in our midst. Guard! Send for a healer."

"Sir!" saluted the guard.

It was all Tirion and Dorhinen needed to stride into the courtyard and hoist Legolas onto his feet.

"The worst is over, Legolas," said Tirion as they steadied him, and then took him inside, to a room with a small bed. Someone had lit candles and fresh water stood in a bowl in one corner.

Sitting slowly, Legolas allowed his eyes to slip shut, and by the time he opened them once more, fingers were in his hair, letting it down and unravelling the untidy braids at his temples. Yet he startled when he realised it was neither Tirion nor Dorhinen, but Captains Dunorel and Lanthir.

The smell of food reached his nose and his mouth watered. He did not care what it was, he just wanted to eat it, fill his empty belly and drink his fill of cool water.

There was one thing though, that he would not do - he would not think - for his mind was too full of the incredible things that Celegon had spoken of. Should he start to think of them he knew he would not stop, and although Tirion had told him the worst was over, he knew, nonetheless, that it had not finished.

His tunic was unlaced and his shirt removed. Cold water bathed his face and chest, and kind hands prodded his nose and his cheek. Opening his eyes for a moment, the deep blue eyes of Llyniel stared back at him and he startled momentarily, before smiling widely, and then wincing when his cut lip told him not to.

Friendly hands squeezed his shoulders and soon, he was left almost alone, save for Tirion and Dorhinen, standing just outside the door.

"Eat," smiled Tirion, watching as Legolas grabbed for the bread and cheese, making short work of it before biting down on a pear, its sweet juice running down his chin unchecked.

He chuckled. "Well, you are still a growing lad, I suppose," said Tirion and Legolas smiled ruefully. He had not been able to eat breakfast for his nerves had gotten the better of him.

"Are you surprised, Legolas? Surprised that your own people could treat you as they have?"

"Somewhat, perhaps," said Legolas. "I understand their need to judge me, I know they have little time but it just seemed…"

"Cruel?"

"Yes…those captains, they are the _commanders!_ the warriors I have always looked up to. I know their names, their deeds. I have only ever wanted to be like them, Tirion."

"I admit there were times, when I wanted to intervene, when Barathon and Brethil had you. But listen to me, Legolas. Their cruelty has not gone unnoticed. You saw Lanthir and Dunorel here now, but had we allowed it, most of those captains out there would have done the same. This is not easy for them, but the responsibility, the consequences should they fail to judge you truly, could mean civil war."

"I know, Tirion. It is just me and my childish ways, I suppose. Strange that one slap from a captain, can be more harrowing than all the insults they threw at me…"

Tirion stared back at Legolas, his words sinking in, straight through his heart.

"Sleep, Legolas, for at dawn you will be called upon once more, only this time you will face us in tactics and combat - and _here_ , we do not use training weapons…"

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

That night, Legolas slept fitfully at the barracks while the Captains debated the day's procedures, and at the Fortress, Handir was long to find reverie. The king slept not at all, and neither did Glorfindel, who chose the gardens to wander aimlessly, give free rein to his tumultuous thoughts.

Elladan sat with The Company, talking quietly of the king's revelations, and further away, in a tent, but two days ride away, Erthoron spoke quietly with Lorthil and Golloron, and Amareth smiled in joyful anticipation.

Across the plains, further still, a female elf sat amongst the trees, her light blue eyes trained on the stars above, marking their passage as she reminisced of times gone by, her eyes young yet resolute, sparkling with the thrill of adventure.

And when the night was darkest, an elf tossed and turned in his bed, his face twisted in pain as his head twitched from side to side until his eyes flew wide open and from his mouth a single word was whispered.

'Aglareb.'


	54. The Inner Circle III

GB12390: Thank you! sorry for the addiction though :)

Noph: Legolas arranges them by origin and age because that is a statement in itself. He is saying - I do not mind the task you have set for me, and I will do it better than you expect me to. Regarding rank, ok, I can't say much for a few chapters yet, but the Silvan Warlord is a concept in and of itself. Again, I don't want to get ahead of myself here, but I will address that point.

Ninde: Gracias, amiga. Sabes, he pensado alguna vez en traducir esto al español, pero no sé si habría lectores suficientes - ¿qué opinas?

Guests: Thank you!

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Chapter: The Inner Circle III

He had slept so deeply his eyes felt puffy, and then he remembered that one was probably bigger than the other. His nose tickled him and was sore to the touch and there was a scab at one corner of his mouth.

The only good thing that had come with the mistreatment was the fleeting presence of Llyniel, the Silvan healer he had met on his arrival with Handir; shame though, that he had been so tired he had not fully taken advantage of the moment. And then he remembered the kindness the captains had shown him, for they had unbraided his hair, washed his face and squeezed his shoulder. He was _not_ hated, at least not by most and that was an encouraging thought, he decided. True, there was much to show, to discuss before they could even remotely trust him, and so little time in which to do so.

He suddenly realised that with the coming of the Silvans, there was every chance that Amareth would be with them, Erthoron and Thavron his childhood friend, and he smiled for the first time since he had entered the barracks, and then quickly sobered, for he wondered if it would be the only one to pass his lips this day…

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Breakfast was underway inside the fortress, and Thranduil sat with his sons, with Elladan, Glorfindel and Mithrandir as his guests, and further away, the Company sat and watched them, for the slightest hint that perhaps the Inner Circle had concluded its hearing. But there was nothing, nothing but tight faces and sparing conversation. They were nervous, it seemed, for surely a meeting need not take so long…

But then this had been no ordinary meeting, as Elladan had explained to them the previous evening, and wait they must. Only Dorhinen was with Legolas and they prayed the mercurial Sinda would keep him safe.

"Are you not worried about him at all?" asked Elladan, his eyes trained on Rinion.

"I'm not," he said blithely.

Glorfindel was about to change the subject, but Elladan did not let him.

"Why?"

"Why?" chuckled Rinion. "I do not _know_ him," he said, as if that was all there was to it.

"True," said Elladan. "And then there is the small fact - that he is your _brother_ …" he said ironically.

"And?" asked Rinion.

"You do not see it, do you?" asked Elladan calmly.

"Elladan, leave it be," said Glorfindel warningly.

"As you wish," he said, but his eyes would not leave Rinion's. "You see, Glorfindel. Legolas is my very good friend, and when the time comes I hope he will be my commander. I brook no slight to him, not in my presence."

"Perhaps you should leave?" asked Rinion with a smirk.

"Rinion," said Thranduil, his eyes sparkling dangerously.

"Forgive me father," he said.

"Children, Thranduil," said Mithrandir, "can be difficult, pesky even. They improve with time, they say."

Rinion's nostrils flared and Elladan smirked into his cup, even though he himself had been included in the wizard's less than flattering judgement.

"Now, there is nothing we can do for Legolas - not until the captains finish with him, for good or for bad, but if I know that lad just a little, he will do his job," said the wizard calmly.

"Which is?" asked Rinion.

"Win their trust. Show them he is not your enemy, that he is loyal to the crown, and - tell them that he obeys a higher power, that will be the real test, Rinion."

"And is he - all those things?" asked the Crown Prince, no longer sarcastic.

"Oh yes," said Mithrandir. "He is all that - he risked his life to save _your_ brother, and he would do the same for _you_. And what of you, Rinion? would you do the same for _him_?" he asked, an expression of pity on his face for the wizard already knew the answer to that, indeed Rinion did not answer him.

And so they sat and ate, and in spite of Rinion, the conversation was not stilted. He couldn't be sure, but Elladan had the distinct feeling that Rinion was losing his battle in his role as an uncaring half-brother, and as for Thranduil, he seemed to grow as time wore on, thoroughly entertained by the tales they told him, of the adventures they had lived, of the extraordinary elf that was his son - his silvan son.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

He had dressed in his uniform, strapped on his quiver and reverently placed his new bow inside. His twin knives sat inside the soft leather, crossing over his back and a shorter dagger hung from his belt.

He had secured his Avarin locks and plaited his hair into one, thick braid that sat over one shoulder and reached down to his weapons belt. He still remembered the threat that Barathon had made about cutting his Avarin braids off. Repressing a shudder, he reached for his cape, just as a curt wrap on his door heralded the arrival of Captain Thoron.

"Legolas. Come, join us for breakfast."

Legolas stared at the captain in surprise, hardly believing his words. He had expected harsh treatment, food deprivation, insults but not this for it had sounded _normal_ \- friendly, even.

Thoron smiled, obviously reading his thoughts. " _That_ part of the trial is over, warrior. Come," he repeated, before leading the way into the communal dining hall.

There, the habitual blanket of silence followed him as it always did but with the warriors, it was but a momentary lull before they were back to their quiet conversations. There were no judgemental stares, no hate, just acknowledgement of his arrival. It was refreshing and he allowed himself to relax a little. True enough he had not seen Barathon and Brethil in one corner for there could be no mistaking the emotions in their hard, uncaring eyes.

Captain Tirion stood and beckoned him over to his table. Saluting, Legolas sat were he was shown and nodded at Dunorel, and then smiled sparingly at lieutenant Dorhinen, who seemed to be having a somewhat meaningful conversation with Dunorel, a fellow Sinda.

"But why, why did you refuse that recommendation?" asked Dunorel.

"Because I was not worthy of it," said the cold Sinda.

"It wasn't your fault, Dorhinen. Even the king knows this, still trusts you implicitly."

Dorhinen did not answer and Legolas was shocked to see a fleeting moment of emotion pass over his face. It was grief, he realised, grief for his fallen king if Legolas was not mistaken. He could not forgive himself for the loss of Oropher…

He chanced a glance at Dunorel and then Dorhinen, but quickly looked back at his plate as the Sinda caught him.

"It must be difficult for you, that this son of Thranduil should resemble him so much."

Legolas hesitated for a moment, before finally eating his bread, eyes back on Dorhinen.

"It is - strange - I admit."

"It is strange for us all," said Dunorel to his table companions.

"He is the spitting image," said Tirion. It's how I knew, how Lainion too, had no doubts as to who he was."

Legolas' head bowed at the mention of his lost brother and Tirion's calming hand fell upon his vambrace. "Peace, child, it calms with time…"

Legolas simply nodded, unable to speak for a moment and nobody else did, in respect for his grief.

Sipping now on his hot tea, he dared ask his first question.

"Captain Tirion, will I be required to fight now, or will that be later?"

"Now, why?" he asked in interest.

"May I be allowed a few minutes - to prepare?"

"Prepare what?"

Legolas scowled, "myself, Captain."

"If you must. I see no harm in that. Be ready for us in fifteen minutes in the courtyard."

"Of course, Captain. Thank you," and with that he stood, saluted, and left, under the calculating stare of the captains.

Outside, two warriors were setting up wooden shelving where an array of weapons was being displayed, and further away, targets were being placed. As Legolas passed them, they smiled and nodded at him for these warriors were Silvan and though Legolas still did not understand it, they seemed to respect him, even though they did not know him.

Unbuckling his quiver and laying his own weapons out carefully on the floor beside him, he unbuttoned his outer tunic and removed his shirt, leaving him naked from the waist upwards, save for the two silver bands that sat high on his right bicep.

The weather was humid but the rain had stopped, yet the sky was still a shocking slate grey - the storm would break again later, of that he was sure.

Siting upon the cold stone, he crossed his legs and tilted his head back, closing his eyes and beginning his own, practiced routine, completely unaware of the stares the Silvan warriors were sending his way.

Empty - there was nothing in his mind except his own body. His muscles, his endurance, his skill and his velocity - coordination, anticipation, strength..

He breathed slowly, deeply. Eyesight, hearing, touch, control - _control._

"Legolas."

Opening his eyes, he allowed them to focus for a moment, registering the presence of Captain Forhen.

"Step into the Circle, warrior."

Rising, he briefly wondered how fifteen minutes had just escaped him, and if he should dress, but decided against it, for the captain had said nothing and so he followed Forhen until he was once more in the centre.

Huron stepped forward and circled him. He briefly touched the area where Legolas had been shot just days before.

"Does this pain you?" he asked.

"No, Captain."

"Will it impair your performance today?"

"Somewhat, Sir, the bow, specifically."

"No archery for the moment, then," he said, before his eyes began to travel the entire length of Legolas' body, the broad, strong shoulders, the well-defined muscles, the corded abdomen and clearly curved thighs.

"Today you will show us your skill with the weapons we provide you with. You will spar with the best we have but we do not expect you to win, Legolas. This is not about winning but about showing what you know, and what you do not.

"I understand, Sir."

"However, that does not mean we want you to hold back - for we, will _not,_ " he smiled, and then turned to join his fellow commanders.

The captains spoke quietly for a few moments, their eyes constantly returning to the tall, strong warrior, for seldom was such a body seen. There was a perfection to the hard muscles that spoke of training way beyond the norm, and the whispers they had heard were suddenly more credible.

"Warrior," called Captain Eramir. "What training regime do you follow?"

"The standard Greenwood regime, as if my duty. I then carry out my own routine."

"What is your routine?"

"It is based on concepts both from the journal of General Darcaneth and the teachings of Nurostel of Doriath. It requires meditation both before and after the session and favours slow, precise movements as opposed to velocity. From there I have incorporated techniques I have learned from Avarin hand-to-hand combat, and Silvan aerial work."

The captains stared back at this - child - and for a moment, in spite of the thousands of questions they wanted to ask, none were forthcoming. It was the perfect opportunity for Captain Brethil to press his point.

"What would a Silvan know about Nurostel of Doriath?"

Legolas stayed his irritation, for the most part at least. "The Silvans can _read_ , Captain and, I am half Sindarin."

Some of the captains smiled openly, but of course Brethil was not impressed. "You remain as impertinent as ever, warrior."

"Captain Brethil," said Huron, sharing a knowing glance at the Commander General as he uttered his next words. "You will confront Legolas with the swords." They knew Brethil had somehow come by a Masters in the long sword but long had they suspected that had been achieved by means other than the elf's skills, for Brethil hardly ever rode in the field, preferring the more administrative tasks at the barracks. They would test their theory now and if they were right, they would find the elf that had approved of it…

Brethil, however, seemed completely unconcerned that his skills would be put to the test, so confident he was. He would assume, and rightly so, thought Huron, that Legolas would still be much greener, less skilled than he, a seasoned warrior - Master or no. Still, the bracelet stood on the Sinda's arm and Huron had the sudden urge to rip it off him.

Accepting a sword that was solemnly presented to him by a Silvan weapons master that stood nearby, Legolas turned to face his opponent, just as Glorfindel's face came into his mind's eye.

' _Why are you flapping your arm around like that…_ '

Legolas took up his stance, strange and ancient, the position of his hands distracting for they held the pommel with both hands, one wrapped around it and the other touching it only with the flat of his hand.

"What is he doing?" asked Dunorel, leaning in to Thoron.

"I'm not sure," he murmured.

With a mighty whoosh, Brethil's sword cut through the air, arcing towards Legolas' head but the Silvan did not parry it, he simply dodged it and then regained his stance.

Brethil turned and swung low, and Legolas jumped, collecting his feet under him and then landing lightly, again taking up his posture, and Glorfindel was there again.

' _Watch your opponent. Let them make the first move, read them, their skill, their tendencies…'_

Brethil dodged to one side and then the other, before turning and jabbing forward - into air, for before he knew it, Legolas was behind him.

Whirling on his heel, his face now red with anger, he squared himself once more, holding his sword high over his head. Brethil was changing tactic.

With a cry he attacked, and Legolas parried for the first time, his cool green eyes locking with Brethil's seething grey.

With a scrape of metal they fell apart, and then circled, and Huron watched from afar.

"He is holding back," he said in fascination to Celegon. "The boy already had him in that second move but he held back."

Celegon knew it was true but was too engrossed to even acknowledge what Huron had said.

Brethil carried out three intricate moves that Legolas followed with his quick eyes, countering them by feigning left and then spinning round, and as the Sinda's blade sliced predictably where Legolas knew it would, he grabbed Brethil's forearm and pulled him forward, sending him crashing to the rocky ground face first.

Stunned silence ensued, the captains' disbelieving faces still registering the fact that a Master swordsman had been thrown to the ground, not by another sword but bodily.

Uncomfortable silence ensued as Brethil slowly rose, looking around at the captains, whose sparkling eyes were fixed on him; accusing, dissapointed, disgusted…

"Is there a _Master_ swordsman that would like to spar with Legolas?" asked the smirking Sinda, and there was no mistaking the emphasis Dunorel had placed on the word _master._

"I would," came the deep voice of Tirion, stepping into the circle. "Shall we?"

Legolas bowed low, unable to hide his joy, and this time, the spar was fast and skilled and Tirion worked hard to best Legolas, something which took him fifteen exhausting minutes to achieve, for what Legolas lacked in technique and experience, he made up for with sheer velocity and acrobatics. Indeed Tirion had moved more in that one spar than he had the entire year fighting the enemy.

Eventually though, Tirion's mastery gave its fruit and his blade found itself resting over Legolas' side. The Silvan stood back, nodded and then bowed low, conceding the fight with a brilliant smile on his face.

There were loud murmurs that were promptly quieted as a panting Tirion rejoined the captains, handing Legolas' sword back to the weapons master.

"Tell us, warrior. What are your weaknesses with the sword?" asked the General.

"I fail to adapt to its weight. I am so accustomed to the short swords that with the heaver weapon, I tend to overcompensate. That and my lack of experience - I did not anticipate that final move - have never seen it before."

Nodding his understanding, Huron returned to the Inner Circle, and as for Brethil, Brethil stood stiffly, his face too red to be healthy by any elf's standard, but when Huron's glacial stare rested on him accusingly, it promptly turned the colour of winter snow.

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"Maeneth!"

Silver silk fanned out around the face of an angel and all that looked upon her did so in admiration. She was beautiful by any standards, her face smooth and pale, her frosty blue eyes bright and alive. Yet all that knew her would never say her character fit her face, for it did not.

"Write soon, Sister. No sooner you arrive, send word," said the dark beauty that now stood next to the magnificent mare.

Maeneth stared down at her friend, her sister. "Wish me luck…" she whispered, her eyes too bright, her voice too soft.

Arwen lifted one hand in farewell, a proud smile upon her face and a light in her eyes that told Maeneth they would see each other again soon, for friends such as these would not be parted for long.

And so it was that Maeneth, Princess of Greenwood the Great, finally set off on a journey that would take her home, for the first time in five hundred years. She had not been summoned, not with missives, but her brother had called for her all the same. Not in words for that was not his way, yet he needed her all the same.

It was time to return, as an adult and not the child she had been in those days of suffering, days which had seen her father's decent into grief, and the destruction of her beloved brother's peace and happiness. She had not understood it at the time, but with distance and instruction had come understanding.

She had fond memories of Handir for he was close in age to her, but it was Rinion - Rinion was the other half of herself, the elf only she was able to move, to understand. In the thousands of letters they had sent each other over the years, Rinion had poured out his heart, his anger and frustration, his fears - all the things she knew he would not show to anyone else.

Yet there was one thing she still did not understand, after all this time. Why had he sent her away? Why had he insisted his father send her to Lothlorien? For somehow, Maeneth knew it was not the absence of the queen that had prompted such insistence.

She had thought perhaps, that it was because of their father's volatile health and her own tender age. Or perhaps it was because Rinion had sensed a danger - one he had never addressed.

Whichever the case, he needed her now, and she wanted her beloved brother back. Rinion, Crown Prince of Greenwood the Great; mercurial, glacial, unfeeling on the outside, yet on the inside scarred almost beyond recognition. Maeneth had moved on, grown, changed yet he had not - but he would, of that she had no doubt.

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Twin swords whirled and clashed for the second time that afternoon. Captain Lanthir had sparred with Legolas and had been summarily bested after the third move, leaving the captains anxious to see more of his skill. Yet Legolas had not ended it, instead drawing out the spar into some semblance of dignity. Lanthir knew what he had done, indeed had Huron not told the boy this was not about winning and losing? He was not bad with the short swords, but Legolas was beyond his ken.

He sparred now, with General Huron himself. The mastery was clear and Legolas took the opportunity to show them his own, personal technique.

The captains watched in utter silence as the Silvan used every part of his body, not just the blades in his hands for he twisted and turned, swivelled and then jumped, summersaulted backwards, forwards, twisted away to the side so that it was impossible to land a blow. Almost half an hour later, Huron could take no more and stepped back, his chest heaving and his eyes wide with the rush of the fight.

"Your mastery with the short swords - is well merited - warrior," was all Huron said, watching as Legolas bowed respectfully to the General while he himself desperately struggled to regain his breath.

"Five minutes," he shouted as he turned to the others and Legolas to the water barrel, for he had been fighting all morning, all afternoon with but small breaks in which to drink water and little else.

"So that is why they call you Hwindohtar?" asked an excited Silvan warrior who was caring for the blades they had just used.

Legolas looked at him with a puzzled smile. "Yes," he said, shaking his head at the amount of information his people had about him, information he had no idea how they had come to know.

Conversation amongst the Captains had become louder, more excited as they moved their hands to illustrate the techniques and moves they had just witnessed. They were becoming more and more engrossed in their debates and Legolas only hoped that was a good thing, in spite of the humiliation Captain Brethil had suffered during their spar with the swords. It was not Legolas' way, but the Captain was clearly not up to standard - how he had gained the bracelet upon his arm was painfully obvious and that had fuelled Legolas' wish to teach him a well-earned lesson.

Soon enough, Huron called for their attention. "Captain Barathon has requested a spar with one of his own favourite weapons," he said, "with a weapon that will require improvisation on your part Legolas. Granted it is seldom used now, indeed there are no masters left. We test your adaptability, your skill with a weapon you will not have wielded; spears."

Legolas' eyebrows shot to his hairline, and then lowered as his eyes slanted dangerously and the fool that stood smirking before him. Barathon had obviously given some thought to this, choosing a weapon he thought Legolas would not master and thus try to discredit him. The Silvan's pride bubbled to the fore for in this, one thing, he would not yield. Honour was high on his list of priorities and this buffoon had none - and where he had spared with Lanthir in spite of his inferior skill, with Barathon he would not.

The weapons master passed Legolas a long spear with an apologetic stare, but it was met with a mischievous grin which only the young Silvan saw - and understood for his face lit up in disbelief.

Barathon had wanted to humiliate him, and that would be his downfall.

The captains watched on in barely veiled concern, indeed Dorhinen had inched his way to the fore and no one stopped him. Barathon was triumphant even before the spar had begun and Huron, Huron stood wondering if he had just made his biggest mistake. It was a gambit, but it was also the best way to justify what now seemed inevitable - Brethil and Barathon would face consequences for their intolerable behaviour.

Barathon raised his spear and then strode forward, making a first strike at Legolas, who parried it. The echoing crack of wood against wood signalled the start of their spar and Barathon smiled. Legolas, however, kept his face straight, watching as the Sinda turned and jabbed backwards. It was a clumsy attempt at a standard move and a pang of pity almost made him shudder. Legolas simply stepped aside, watching as Barathon moved forward once more and brought his spear down predictably. Bending his torso to one side, the spear whooshed past his head and his opponent stepped back to start again. Barathon was enjoying himself, realised Legolas and he smiled.

Again, the spear came down and Legolas flipped it aside with his own. He still had not needed to make an attack himself, hence he had not revealed the fact that this was not the first time he had wielded this weapon. He would have to though, if he was to show Barathon the meaning of humility.

Legolas took his spear in both hands and crouched low, sliding one hand along the smooth wood until it reached the end, and the low murmurs of the captains abruptly ceased.

Legolas carried out a forward lunch that stopped just short of Marathon's belly and the Sinda froze for a moment, looking stupidly at the tip of the spear, before meeting Legolas' smirking face. But he had no time to think on it, for Legolas swivelled the spear above his head, danced on his heel and brought it back down until it rested over Barathon's left ear. Barathon froze again, his eyes wide, spear useless in his hand.

Flipping backwards, Legolas squatted to the other side, the spear now resting down his left arm, his right held out behind him. Running, he flipped forwards without the use of his arms until he stood before Barathon, the spear sitting parallel to his face, over the bridge of his nose and Barathon dropped his useless spear to the ground with a resounding clatter. After what seemed like an endless moment of silence, Legolas spoke, the heat of the moment and his own anger fuelling his words.

"You wished to humiliate me. This is my answer," he spat, before walking backwards and then returning the spear to an awe struck Silvan weapons master.

"Why did you not tell me you had used this weapon before," shouted Barathon, somewhat shakily.

Legolas turned back to the Sinda, his hair whipping around his face. "You never _asked_ ," he snarled. He was riled, and in his anger he was suddenly fierce and frightening, volatile and passionate.

It was enough, Huron was done and Celegon nodded.

"We will take an early evening meal and move on to the final part of this trial. Legolas, please join us in one hour in the dining area."

Legolas nodded, glad of the time he had been given. Dorhinen's heavy hand was on his bare shoulder then, his grey eyes staring into Legolas' green irises, so intensely he stopped in concern for what Dorhinen would say.

"Your grandfather was the last Spear Master, Legolas. Take the grade, take his place, earn his spear for it sits uselessly in the vaults of the fortress, forgotten by all except me and your father…"

"But there are no spear masters to judge me… indeed there was only one in Imladris."

"Then we send for him, or we send you there - do this thing, Legolas. It is right - such a magnificent weapon must not be left to rot, not if there is a rightful heir."

Legolas looked deeply into Dorhinen's pleading eyes, eyes that shimmered with deep emotion and conviction and he smiled in awe.

"There is fire in your eyes, Dorhinen. As if a cold, cold star had just exploded - Koron en' Naur."

"What?" asked Dorhinen in a voice so soft Legolas almost missed it.

"Koron en' Naur - Ball of Fire - thus I name you…"

"You are asking me to join you? Join your company?"

"Oh yes, respectfully, and with hope in my heart."

"I am old, and bitter, Legolas. Your company is young and optimistic still of the world."

"Just as you once were, just as you can be once more, if you have a mind…"

The blank cold stare of the Sinda had been shattered and the muscles in his face moved, pulling his features this way and that.

"To follow a grandson of Oropher King - to follow _you_ \- I would give my life - I _do_."

Legolas was so very grateful then, humbled by this extraordinary Sindarin elf that had lived for so long, seen so many things and so he wrapped his strong arms around the one that had been his shadow for the last few days, and embraced him as a brother, as a warrior of The Company.

The Sinda's own arms wrapped around the strong body, and then squeezed with all his might, because for the first time in many long years, Dorhinen allowed himself to feel - and it did not hurt.

Koron en' Naur.

And behind them, Dunorel smiled brilliantly, turning to Thoron and clapping him on the shoulder and whispering in his ear.

"What an extraordinary child…"


	55. Judgement

Author's notes:

Wow, eight hundred reviews. Never in my wildest dreams did I fantasise with getting so much incredible feedback. Thank you seems so absurdly inadequate. There are still some chapters to go, but we are well into the final stint now.

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Earthdragon: another lost soul, yes - nice way of putting it! Maeneth is set to sort Rinion out, let's see if she can truly achieve that. As for Brethil, you know what it's like to have influential parents, protocol just doesn't seem to apply. Glad you enjoyed the chapters.

Noph: Thanks for that! I am glad you enjoyed the chapter :)

Ninde: Pues sí que tiene su corazon, escondido y bien guardado, pero ante su hermana - no va a poder hacer eso! Gracias, amiga, por tus palabras.

GB12390: Well, hopefully this is a healthy addiction. Glad you liked Koron en' Naur's intro :))

Guest: Yes, let the Legolas Effect continue indeed.

Guest: T-H-A-N-K Y-O-U !

Guest 1345: Aglareb - I can't tell you right now, but it will begin to make sense soon. Glad you enjoyed it!

Rita OrcA: Actually, I edited chapter four because the time line just did not work, so you might want to go there and take a look, but I have changed the name of that arrogant Sinda - there was no other way :) Thanks for the encouragement!

Chapter Fifty-five: Judgement

The afternoon light was rapidly failing, and candles and torches were lit in the strategy room where the Captains now stood talking quietly, expectantly.

Dinner had been a quick, practical affair, for none of them could wait to get back to the final part of this, extraordinary trial, one none of them would forget, especially Legolas.

Strategy, intuition, forward planning. However good a warrior was, if he did not excel in these skills, he would never earn a command, and that is what they would now put to the test.

"Legolas, step forward," said Huron, making way for him at the massive table around which they all stood. Upon it, sat a map of the entire Greenwood and off to one side, six boxes, each containing differently coloured stones.

"These," said Huron as he dipped his hands into the green stones, are our warriors and these," he pointed to the black ones, "are orcs. Yellow stones are for spiders, grey for shelters, blue for water sources and red for other patrols. Take a good look at the map, Legolas. There is more detail than you may spot at first sight, take your time."

The captains watched him closely as his extraordinary green eyes keenly scanned the forest, the hills and the streams, the caves and the plains, the fortress of Dol Guldur…

"You are here," said Huron, counting out twenty green stones and placing them upon the map. "They are here, and here, he pointed, reaching first for the black and then the yellow stones. "There is a patrol here," he pointed, adding a red stone off to the west. Deploy your warriors," said Huron and then fell silent.

Legolas' eyes narrowed, noting where his own group was, the distance between them and the Western patrol, the enemy numbers, their proximity to civilian areas, water sources, caves in which they could find shelter, or perhaps use as vantage points.

"How many of my elves are archers?"

"Ten."

Picking two green stones from his own group, he put them with the western patrol and then picked five more, replacing them upon the map. Five more were placed separately and then the remaining elves behind them.

"Archers," he pointed, "foot warriors here. Runners to the western patrol, they are close enough to lend aid but that would depend on the time of day?" he asked.

"Morning," said Huron.

"These two groups are close enough that we may box them in here," he pointed. "With luck the western patrol will join this central group here before the enemy is engaged. If they do not arrive, a second decision would be made before engagement," he said confidently, placing one more green stone half-way towards the enemy. A scout here will better inform of their proximity and movement."

Huron's eyes moved from the map to Legolas, and then to the rest of the Captains, but they were silent.

Dunorel stepped forward, swiping the stones away and starting anew. "One patrol here, and another here. An ambush further ahead, here, has a broken patrol with four wounded. How do you get them to safety?" …..

And thus, early evening turned to night and still they worked, and outside, two Silvan warriors stood watching, and waiting. It would be over soon, they knew, and finally they would be at liberty to discuss the extraordinary events they had lived over the past two days. They knew their people were approaching, knew what it was they came for.

"Will the king allow it, brother?" asked one softly.

"How could he not? Did you see him? Did you see him _fight?_ "

"I did," he smiled and then turned to look at his companion, for his young eyes sparkled in youthful excitement. "You admire him…"

"Yes. It is all I ever wanted and did not think possible - I want to be a lieutenant - a _Silvan_ lieutenant…" and then he smiled.

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Legolas had been confined to his small room at the barracks while the captains had closeted themselves within the strategy room, discussing his future. There was no telling how long it would take them, and so he sat in the company of Dorhinen, or Koron en' Naur as Legolas had named him just that afternoon.

They had talked for many hours, of Dorhinen's life, of the things he had seen and done, of his service to Oropher king, and then his tragic downfall. The Sinda had told Legolas many stories of his beloved king, all of them good, and yet Legolas had dragged with him a feeling that Oropher could surely not be the strong yet just king Dorhinen and everyone else made him out to be, and the reason seemed clear. How could Oropher have forbidden his son to court Lassiel?

It was one thing to dissuade him, given that she had no claim to nobility, but surely, when their love became clear, he would have yielded? Koron en Naur must have noticed his doubts and cocked his head to one side.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Well, I am assuming you know that King Oropher forbade his son to court Lassiel, my mother and I was just wondering - why he would do that…"

"That I cannot tell, Hwindo, and yet I do know he was a just elf, fair and good-hearted. Whatever reason drove him to do that, it must have been a powerful one - I promise you that."

Legolas thought about that for a moment, yet already his head was moving from side to side.

"You do not understand it, do you?" asked Koron en Naur.

"No- no I do not, but I have yet to have this conversation with my father. I will be sure to ask him for I do not rightly know where I stand as far as my grandfather is concerned."

"And that you must learn for yourself, of course. You know," he smiled as he shook his head, "you are so much like him - not only your face but your personality. The more I get to know you, Hwindo, the more of him I see in you."

"Then I hope my questions are answered, Koron. He ruined my father's life, and affected mine in such a pivotal way. There were many consequences to that decision he made, so many ramifications."

"I see that," said Dorhinen, now so far from the chunk of ice he had been just that morning. So much had changed that day, as if another elf sat beside him, reborn after a simple fight with spears, well if one could call it a fight, of course."

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They had expected him in the morning, but still, there was no sign of Legolas or Dorhinen and breakfast was quieter than it had been for many days, the air around them charged with trepidation, worry, anxiety, for Legolas was in the hands of the Inner Circle, and the Silvans marched upon the fortress.

Elladan sipped his tea in silence as the Company talked quietly amongst themselves. They were restless, and the Noldo knew their patience was running thin. But then, so was his own.

"Elladan!"

Elrond's son visibly jumped at the frantic call from somewhere beyond the dining room door and he frowned, aware that the entire Company had fallen silent.

 _"Elladan!"_

"What…" was as far as Idhrenohtar got, before a panicked Nestaron burst into the room. His hair had come undone, as if he had messed it himself, and his eyes were huge.

" _Elladan!_ " he shouted once more, before his eyes landed on Rafnohtar, sitting with the Company.

"Nestaron?" asked Elladan in mounting panic as the Master Healer ran towards his table, stopping in a flurry of black robes.

Yet his proximity to Elladan did not change the tone of his voice, nor, unfortunately, the volume, for he continued to shout, unable to control his panicked state.

"Elladan, by the Valar, Elrondion - it is _working!_ " he screamed.

By now, the whole dining room had risen to their feet, trying and failing to understand what had happened to their usually calm and confident healer.

" _Elladan!_ " he screamed once more and Elrond's son stood, holding his palm out. "Nestaron, _please._ Just - tell me what has happened."

"Your tonic, your tonic, _damn_ it! It is _working!_!"

Elladan's own eyes bulged as he stared back at the raving Sindarin healer in utter disbelief.

"What?" he said softly, flatly.

"It's working, it's bringing back my warrior, the infection is leaving him - he should have _died!_ "

"I don't understand," he said almost to himself, turning around and raking a now shaking hand through his black locks, his own blood rushing through his veins too quickly.

"Did you not throw it away? How did you know what I put in it…"

"Llyniel left it in the store room and I could not stop thinking about it. I used it as a last resort and….. I don't understand it myself, Elrondion, but it _is_ working…"

Elladan took silent leave of the Company and tried his best to compose himself but Nestaron would have none of it as he took Elladan roughly under the arm, all but dragging him away to the Healing Halls, under the shocked eyes of the Greenwood's lords and ladies.

"What was that about?" asked Rinion with a snort.

"Elladan's tonic, Rinion. He mixed a brew he thought may help Lainion but it did not work. Now, however, it seems to have _steeped…_ "

"Elrondion indeed…" muttered the king in respect.

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Morning turned to afternoon, and Commander General Celegon sat behind his imposing desk, General Huron standing on one side, and Captain Dunorel on the other.

Brethil, Barathon, please sit, he instructed, not looking up from the papers before him.

"I have the unpleasant duty of informing you, that your respective ranks of 'captain' have been revoked, as of now," he said, his blank eyes resting on both lords as they stared back at him in disbelief.

"What?" came Barathon's weak voice, anxiety, vulnerability…

"You are both, hereby, stripped of your ranks," repeated Celegon, his face completely unfeeling.

"But this is outrageous, you cannot.." said Barathon softly.

"Yes, Barathon. I can, we do," he said, his eyes finally showing the pity he truly felt. "Your commands were gained not on the strength of your skills in the field but on the strength of your family names. This much has been demonstrated during this trial. We are investigating how this came about," he added, "and will inevitably be making enquiries, just as we will also find out who conceded your Sword Master grade, Brethil.

"You cannot be serious!" shouted Brethil, "you cannot demote a Captain like this,"

"I can, because you should never have been one in the first place. You may tell your families that you are voluntarily leaving the army if that is what you wish, we have no interest in humiliating you," added the Commander General.

The uncomfortable silence stretched out and Celegon was about to speak again, but Barathon beat him to it, rising slowly to this feet, his blazing blue eyes fixed on Commander Celegon.

"This will not go unchallenged, Celegon," he said, "I will not be humiliated in this way, by you, or by that _bastard_. If you are serious about this, I will contest it with everything I have, my father has."

"And there you have it, Barathon. We do not want you in this army, and neither do we want you, Brethil. Leave, and tell your families what you will, but I warn you. Any attempt at sedition or treason, will be answered with the full weight of our military laws. This army is an authority unto itself, loyal to the crown, yet capable of acting on its own initiative when the need arises."

"How can you go against your own _people_ like this?" he shouted.

"I do not go against them, indeed it is in their favour that you do not serve as captain. You are a liability, one I knew existed but had not the moral grounds on which to act - until now. Your own arrogance has brought you here for had you not contested the Silvan's claim to a rank so fervently, so vehemently, this would not have happened. You shamed yourselves with your words and your deplorable deeds."

"No - you embrace him," shouted Barathon, pointing his finger in Celeron's face, "that freak you call a warrior, the fruit of a royal tumble with a Silvan _whore!_ "

Dunorel stepped forward, one hand on his dagger but Celegon's hand on his forearm stopped him.

"Yes - that is what we say," snarled Barathon. "His mother drove our queen away, she left our realm bereft of her light, her love. That bitch buried our king under a mountain of despair, drove our Princess away and our Crown Prince became a cold shell of what he once was. All that, is what she did, and now, you embrace her _spawn_? Knowing what you do?" he asked, his voice hoarse after his desperate outburst.

Celegon stood for the first time, slowly, yet the fire in his eyes could not be ignored and Barathon stepped back in alarm.

"We all loved our queen, Barathon. We were all grieved at her leaving, albeit we did not understand her motives, until now. But then," he cocked his head to the side, "I have always wondered what else drove her across the sea, for we did not understand how she could have left her own children…" Do you know anything about that, Barathon?" asked Celegon, but his tone was not one of genuine puzzlement, it was almost - ironic, indeed there was a strange light in the Commander's eyes, one that appears when nascent understanding suddenly makes itself known.

"Is it not enough, to lose the one you love? To know they have created a child?"

"But she knew our king did not love her, Barathon. Do not think to fool me…. what is it that you know that I - do not?"

Huron's frown depended and Dunorel watched the exchange in mounting panic, for there was more to this than met the eye, and their very intuitive Commander General had picked up on it.

"Nothing I have not already said - she was love…"

"Loved - by _whom?_ " came the final whispered word that echoed around their room, in their heads and Barathon, Barathon stared back in shock and panic, for he was suddenly aware, that he had said too much…"

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It was late evening by the time Barathon and Brethil left the barracks, their faces pale, their mouths firmly shut and now, the remaining one hundred commanders of the Inner Circle sat tiredly, silently as wine was poured.

"Whatever Barathon and Brethil did, and we all know what that is, it must have been hard to do what you just did, Commander General," said Forhen as he stared into his own goblet, swirling the wine inside it.

"Yes," he replied quietly, sadly. "They are fools, arrogant and assuming, unworthy of their ranks and titles and of their pretty silver bands. They are vindictive and cruel and still, to strip a commander of his rank…"

"They never really were captains, Celegon," said General Huron. "Look at it this way; they did not merit that rank, and it riles me that they ever got five captains to recommend them. I think perhaps that I do not wish to know," he said as his eyes moved from one commander to the next. "So long as it does not happen again, so long as we are capable of changing this injustice and moving on, becoming better…"

It was an indirect request for Celegon to leave things be, to not dig into the open wound that had been inflicted on their reputation, their pride.

"I would hear your thoughts," said Celegon in that same soft and mournful voice, smile though he did.

"I agree with Huron," said Thoron. "Mistakes have been made and we all knew, we admit it or not, that those two had climbed through the ranks thanks to their fathers' efforts. Yet now, now that they are gone, there is not one single Captain here that I would not ride with, that I do not respect as a fellow commander, be he Silvan or Sindarin…"

"The question is," said Celegon, "how can I be sure that this will not happen again? These captains, the ones that backed such a flagrant breech of honour, what were their motives? Were they aware of what they did? Where they coerced into it? I need to know why if I am to let this go unpunished."

Silence fell over the captains as they drank and they thought on the commander's words.

"I think," began Eramir, "that given both those elves' wishes to carry out the more, administrative duties here in the barracks, that the possible consequences of their incompetence were lessened. They thought perhaps that no real damage would be done, and in exchange, they would not antagonise lords as powerful as Bandorion or Draugole…"

Celegon stared long and hard at Eramir, his eyes bright and penetrating. He knew, he knew Eramir was, essentially, giving Celegon what he needed - the real reasons behind what had happened, perhaps because he knew, that Eramir had been one of them and that this was his way of admitting his fault.

"And what would they say now, in hindsight?" asked Celegon, his eyes back on the swirling vortex of wine in his cup.

"Perhaps that they were fools, that we are warriors, first and foremost, and that fear of antagonising the lords should never guide our actions. That only honour, wisdom, pride and love for our land must dictate the paths we wander…"

"Do you think they would all agree with that?" asked the general with a faint smile upon his lips.

"I think they would, my Lord Commander," said Eramir, his sorrowful eyes coming to rest on Celegon's at last. I _know_ they would…"

Some captains stared at Eramir for a while, understanding coming to them, while others looked to the floor in silent shame.

"Well," said Celegon. "I thank you then, for that insight Eramir. Perhaps you are right. But if you are not," he said, his voice rising now, his eyes riveted on the Sindarin captain, "I will root them out and truss them up, and then hang them from the ramparts so that all of the Greenwood can witness what it is the Inner Circle does - with _traitors."_

There was no answer, for the Commander General had spoken, and all of them knew that he meant what he said.

"Well, now that that is sorted," began Huron somewhat uncomfortably, "we discuss the trial and we make a decision. I can see the forest flags from the upper levels - the Silvans are setting camp.

Discussion began slowly, stilted at first, until they were debating in earnest, laughing, shaking their heads, gesticulating, agreeing, disagreeing, and Celegon sat back and listened, momentarily catching Huron's knowing eyes, and then watching as the general slowly nodded his head in respect.

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The throne room was a magnificent place, a testimony to the glory days of the Sindar of Doriath. The stone had been carved into pilars, arches, walkways and even trees. Shafts had been cleverly engineered so that natural light beamed in, onto the grey stone, setting it all alight in a myriad of colours, indeed one of them now shed a ray of yellow light over the throne itself, and the pale blond head of Greenwood's ruler, Thranduil.

Close by, stood Mithrandir and Glorfindel, talking quietly, and opposite them, Aradan and Handir listened and watched as the king worked. Outside the mighty doors, petitioners stood, waiting for the ceremonial guards to lead them to the king.

The Company had commissioned for themselves a quiet corner, for they were hungry for news on Legolas, and there was no better place for them to wait than here.

Elladan's smile was catching, and in spite of their worry for Legolas, they could not but help feeling his joy, his pride.

"So what now?" asked Idhreno. "You will become a famous healer and leave the Company!" he exclaimed.

"No - not that. I will develop the tonic together with Nestaron, investigate it for we still do not understand how it works. All we know, is that something happened to it, during its time in the store room, something changed with time and we must identify what that was if we are to reproduce it."

"It will be a mighty gift to us all, Elladan. Your deed will be praised, and I shall write a song!" exclaimed the Bard Warrior. But before any of them had time to answer, a messenger ran into the corridor, whispering urgently to the guard. He was immediately ushered to the king and the Company craned their necks to watch.

Glorfindel and Mithrandir watched attentively as Thranduil read the parchment the messenger handed him, his eyes rapidly scanning the paper.

"Lord Aradan," he called to his advisor. "The Silvans are here. They have set up camp outside the fortress and are requesting an audience. Please see to this personally. Tell them we are currently holding council on the matter that has brought them here. It will be a matter of 24 hours, Aradan. You must appease them, gain this time for us."

"My King, would you consent to Prince Handir accompanying me?"

"State your reasons," asked the king.

"He is an able statesman, the experience will be good for him but more than this, he is Lord Legolas' brother. That may work in our favour.

The king nodded slowly. "Very well, take a small contingent with you. And Aradan - gather the Council for tomorrow at first light …"

"Thank you sire. We will report back to you as soon as we have secured an acceptable answer.

Aradan turned to Handir with a smile on his face, and Handir answered it with a wider one of his own, before taking his place at the Chief Advisor's side, and walking purposefully away.

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"Legolas, it is time," said Captain Lanthir from the open door to his small room, and the Silvan stood, Koron en Naur at his side.

"Come," came Dorhinen's deep voice, one hand on the small of Legolas' back.

His legs felt weak and his heart raced too fast. This was the moment upon which the rest of his life would rest, and he was not sure he wished to hear what they would say.

Rounding the corner, both elves came face to face with the entire Inner Circle, standing now to attention in four perfect rows, Commander General Celegon at the fore together with General Huron.

"Legolas Thranduilion," came the commanding voice, a voice that was meant to be heard by them all.

"The decisions we will now relay to you have been taken unanimously, and will take effect as of this very moment. Will you abide by our judgement?"

"I will," said Legolas, but his voice was nothing even remotely similar to what he had intended, for it had come out weakly and with a slight waver that almost made him blush.

"You are hereby granted the rank of First Lieutenant. Pending the ruling of the Council, we will favour your candidature as Warlord of the Silvan people, so long as you accept the military hierarchy of the Greenwood's army, whatever the Silvan people may grant you."

Celegon paused here, for there was more, and he needed the information to be fully understood before he continued.

"Given the extraordinary circumstances, your age, the request of the Silvan people, and your undeniable skill as a warrior and strategist, you will ride with one of us, together with another lieutenant, for a period of approximately five years. After this time, the Inner Circle will convene once more to discuss your progress."

And there it was. Celegon was telling him that he may be promoted to Captain if he learned enough in those five years… just five years. He could not help it, and tears sprang to his green eyes as his life passed before his mind's eye…

An elf, barely past his majority, sitting in his humble cottage, reading to the light of a single candle - the books of old, admiration in his eyes as he drank in the illustrations of the mighty commanders, their armour, their weapons, learning of their brave deeds and sacrifices.

An elf who trained upon the empty fields when all others had retired for the day. Sparing, shooting, training his body. Nursing his aching muscles and ignoring the pain as he worked himself to his limits.

His own voice when asked what it was he wanted…. ' _to be a captain_ ,' he had answered with stars in his eyes.

One tear escaped him and he closed his eyes, and when he opened them once more, the kind eyes of Celegon stood before him.

"Seldom have we seen such vocation, such deep desire, honour and humility in one so young. We will be watching you, Legolas, and when the time comes, we will stand together and invest you as the captain you were born to be. We congratulate you, lieutenant…" he smiled.

Legolas smiled as he dragged his forearm over his eyes. But all he could do was nod and the captains standing before him broke the lines, and before Legolas' disbelieving eyes, they surrounded him, and one by one, gave him his first salute, under the indulgent eyes of Koron en Naur, for in his own mind he saw Oropher once more, smiling as would a proud forefather before an extraordinary scion of his house, one he knew would return it to glory and splendour once more.


	56. Prophecy

Author's notes:

Many of you have asked about why Elladan's tonic would become effective over a period of time. This is a wink at the discovery of Penicillin :))

Lara: me alegro que disfrutes leyendo la historia.

Rita Orca: the question of Lieutenant vs. Warlord will be addressed, as will the finer points of Legolas' mission for the next five years and how The Company fit in with that. Thanks for the encouragement, as always.

Ninde: un vicio lo tuyo - y lo mío!

GB12390: this turned out to be such a mammoth story - it was never my intention, but with 'final stint' I may be talking of another five of six chapters- at least. A sequel? That is a possibility - but seven? LOL

Guest 1345: scream away! Other stories - quite possibly, yes :))

Noph: the spoilt brats - yes - daddy! daddy! LOL

Earthdragon: Barathon does know a lot more about that, yes. And the question of why the queen left her children behind is another of the mysteries that need solving.

Chapter fifty-six: Prophecy

There was a strangeness in the air, for those that dwelled within the Fortress of Greenwood the Great, had never seen the likes. There was a carpet of tents pitched around the outer fortifications, and atop each one, a flag wavered proudly in the afternoon breeze, flags that told stories of great houses and beloved lands.

Every village was represented, every noble house of old, both Silvan and Avarin, and Thranduil found himself wondering if there were any left behind in the forest.

Tilting his crowned head to the waning sun, he closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the new smells that lingered upon the air, smells he had not enjoyed in many years - the years he had spent hibernating inside his self-constructed shell of misery.

Pine and resin, nuts and wet soil. Fragrant herbs and dried leaves smoking over incandescent coals - the smells of the forest, of the Silvan people. It was the aroma that lingered every time she passed him, the same one that came to him in his dreams.

He had failed them, he reckoned, for in his absence he had ignored their needs, waved off their indignant comments, their complaints for what they considered unfair treatment. He had let it all roll with the tide until the wave had become so tall it threatened to engulf them all.

Yet now, he could make it right. If he played his hand with skill, deployed his assets in the best possible way, he could, perhaps, undo the damage, restore this kingdom, restore the forest, resuscitate his own heart…

His wandering eyes were drawn to a small group of elves that walked through the gates far below him. Lord Aradan and his own son, Handir, accompanied by four guards made their way towards the largest tent where Thranduil knew Erthoron and Lorthil would be, waiting for word from the King. They looked so small, he mused, so insignificant and yet their mission was of the utmost importance; gain for them all, the time they would need to gather the council, and then convince them that the Silvans' demand for a return of their Warlord, was viable, would be advantageous, and that Legolas was the elf to fulfil that role.

Handir was a source of constant pride. He had always been the most steadfast, the most intelligent, at least where his own family was concerned. He knew though, that he had taken his middle son for granted many times, assumed that he would do his duty, that he would endure the grief Thranduil had not been able to shake himself of, indeed he had not shown his love, his admiration, his pride… not since Handir had been a bright-eyed child, still blissfully unaware of the farse that was his parents' marriage.

But then neither had he done it for Rinion, his eldest. He had been old enough to understand, and hence to suffer and yet the consequences had been different, for where Handir was analytical, logical, understanding and practical, Rinion was incandescent, rash, emotional and somewhat - obsessive. Rinion had been close with his mother, and closer still with his sister, Maeneth.

His daughter's lovely face came to him then and he smiled for in his mind she was still a child, not yet come of age. Her cheeks round and full, features not yet fully formed. What would she look like now, he wondered, would she look like her mother? Like Aglareb?

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"The king's envoys," said Narosen, the Spirit Herder as he peered around the flap of their spacious tent.

"Who?" came Lord Erthoron's voice.

"Prince Handir, Lord Aradan…"

"Strange they do not send Legolas to us, assuming as they will that his aunt is here," said Golloron.

"This is a highly - political - moment, Golloron," said Erthoron. "Every deed, every word, every emphasis, every stare or wave of a hand means something. That Legolas is not here means either that he is otherwise engaged, or the king does not wish to give us false hope."

"We are about to find out," said Narosen, as he pulled the flap open and bowed before the two dignitaries, ushering them inside with his arms.

"Lord Erthoron, Lord Lorthil," nodded Prince Handir.

"My Prince, Lord Aradan," bowed the lords and the two spirit herders.

"Lord Erthoron," began Prince Handir after a subtle nod from Aradan. "My father sends his apologies for not receiving you personally. He is currently engaged in the very Council meeting that will decide the outcome of your petitions. He requests you concede a further twenty-four hours before giving you our decision on this matter."

"Why has this been left so late, knowing that we would arrive on this date?"

"Lord Erthoron," continued Handir, moving now from where he had been standing, just as Erestor had shown him. "The Council has only now been called, because Lord Legolas' position in this realm had not yet been decided. In order to consider your request, it was necessary to count on the backing of our military."

"And you have that now? They are favourable to the return of our Warlord?"

"We do not yet know, my Lord. You see, Lord Legolas has been with the Inner Circle for the last three days. We still await their judgement of his - suitability, if you will."

"And yet you are in Council, without that information?" asked Erthoron.

"The Council will convene shortly. We hope that our Commander General will inform us within the next few hours."

Erthoron breathed deeply, clearly not happy with the delay.

"I thought we had made our position plain, my Prince?" he asked.

"You did, my Lord, and we give it the utmost importance."

" _All_ of you?" asked Erthoron rhetorically.

"No, not all of us, for you know who would speak against it. Yet with the favour or our army, it will be nigh on impossible for the Council to rule against it. We simply need one more day, my Lord…"

"And you have it," conceded Erthoron quietly. "No more, no less…" he said meaningfully.

"We are grateful, my Lord. I will send word no sooner a decision has been reached," he said.

Erthoron nodded. "Come," he said, pouring wine into three cups. "Sit with me for a while, for we have many questions," he said, smiling for the first time.

Handir smiled as he sat, Aradan at his side. Erthoron's eyes would not leave those of the prince, indeed Handir was becoming uncomfortable, for the lady in the corner stared too, as if mesmerised, and the two strange Silvans that stood towards the back were quite simply unnerving. Spirit Herders, Silvan mystics that always appeared when questions of state were at hand.

"You look like your brother," said Erthoron critically as he drank.

"Like Legolas, you mean?" asked Handir.

"Yes. And yet not so. He is more, robust than you, and his eyes are green, so different from yours - from those of your father. His hair is similar though, if a little lighter…"

"Now there, I must disagree, Erthoron. Legolas' hair cannot be compared with any other…"

"And why not? Granted it is long, but not that much more than your own…"

Handir remembered then, that Legolas had changed since the last time these people had seen him…

"Perhaps it is the way he wears it," said Handir lightly, desperate now to change the subject.

"So tell me, Handir. How has Legolas fared with you, with his father and your siblings?"

Handir was about to answer, but the woman in shadows chose that moment to step forward. There was something of Legolas in her features, and he correctly deduced that this would be Amareth, Lassiel's sister.

"Forgive me," said Erthoron, "This is Amareth, Legolas' aunt, sister of his mother, Lassiel.

"Well met, my Lady," said Handir as he stood and bowed. Aradan simply nodded at her, for they had met before, he knew.

"Will you tell us, then? Tell us how Legolas fares with his father's family?" she asked quietly, but Handir did not miss the worry in her voice.

"Well, he and I are - at peace. We respect one another and I believe, with time, we will become the brothers we should always have been," he said, watching Erthoron especially for a reaction. "When this is over and we are at peace once more, we will be fine allies for we share a common purpose, the same loyalties.

Indeed Erthoron's eyebrows rose and a pleased smile showed on his unguarded face.

"That pleases me, Handir, truly."

"And what of Thranduil?" asked Amareth, her tone somewhat anxious.

"The king is much changed, my lady, since Legolas' appearance. He as been a catalyst of sorts, I would say for our king has left his grief aside, I think, he seems strangely comforted by the presence of this lost son."

Amareth's eyes were wide and alive as she listened. "That is good then, that he has the protection of the king…." she said, almost to herself and Handir frowned, and then turned to Aradan, a silent question in his eyes, but Aradan simply shrugged.

"Why would he need the king's protection, my Lady?"

Amareth looked up sharply, before shaking her head. "A mother's worry…" she said simply, but neither of the Sindar were convinced that that was truly the root of her unrest, and so, the information was stored, for this woman seemed to know much much more than she would have them believe.

"Have there been any, _other_ developments?" asked Golloron, a strange looking elf by any standards, mused Handir. His chestnut locks were almost red and his eyes too, shared that same, somewhat other-worldly appearance. His hair was braided in so many different ways Handir knew it would take him days to understand the messages hidden within. Coloured beads hung from their tips and there was even a feather sitting at the top of a thicker plait that ran down his back. He knew he was staring, but he also knew this, Golloron, would be more than accustomed to it.

"Other developments, well…" began Handir ruefully. "Could you be more specific, Golloron?"

"We believe," said the Spirit Herder, "that he is a listener - of sorts," he added finally with a slight tilt of the head, and Handir remembered…

 _'Watch the semiotics, Handir, watch the smallest of movements because that is what will give you the biggest insight…'_

The Spirit Herder was hiding something, something these Silvans shared.

"Yes - it seems that is, indeed the case," he said, but offered no more verbal information. Legolas had met these elves if his memory did not fail him, but that would have been before his trip to Imladris, before Yavanna's mandate had come to be known.

"We were greatly saddened - about Lainion," said Lorthil with a heavy breath. "He was a fine elf, a brave warrior."

Handir could not speak for a moment, for Lainion's death still weighed heavily on his heart.

"As were we all…" he said softly. "His loss is irreplaceable," he murmured. "Legolas wears Avarin braids in his hair - in remembrance," he said with a soft smile.

"You are a good prince, Handir," said Amareth with a soft smile, some of her anxiety softened as she spoke. "I know he does not need it but - perhaps you would - look over him? On the battle field he is unbeatable, but in the fortress, amidst all that political turmoil, the manoeuvring, the intrigues - he will be powerless against that…"

And there it was again. This woman was frightened.

"Well, my Lady, my Lords, we must be getting back. There is much to achieve in but twenty-four hours. My father has asked me to relay to you his good will, and heart-felt greetings to the city."

"Let us hope then, Prince Handir, that we all have reason to celebrate, once this is over."

"That is our own, fervent desire, Lord Erthoron. I will bring news, no sooner I have it," he promised, and then with a bow, Handir and Aradan left, their guards in tow.

It was not until they were passing the gates that Aradan turned to Handir and smiled.

"You did well," he said, "you did very well."

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"They are willing to wait, my King, but we have no doubts they will not wait for any longer than that. They have come by the hundreds - they expect some monumental change - there is something in the air that cannot be ignored…

Thranduil listened quietly and surprisingly, so did Rinion.

"I wonder if we can convince the council then, to do this - that by doing so we are not creating a threat to ourselves, to the Sindarin way of life…" said Mithrandir.

"I believe we can, so long as Bandorion and his people can be effectively quieted, said the king softly."

"My Lord," began Aradan again, stepping forward now, "there is something Prince Handir and I have been discussing - an intuition if you will - "

"Oh?" asked Thranduil. "What is it?" he asked, and Mithrandir's eyes sharpened as he stepped forward to listen.

"Amareth, Legolas' aunt," he began. "She seemed overly worried - at Legolas' safety - "

"And in that she is not wrong, Aradan," said Thranduil. "Did we not assign Dorhinen to him?"

"Yes, but this is different - we _know_ what is going on here in court, she - can only _guess_ at it and yet she is so sure… how can she know of the Sindarin Purists, about Bandorion and Barathon, Draugole and Brethil, about their machinations and their manipulation of our people?"

"Yes, I see what you mean," said Thranduil, and Mithrandir's eyes narrowed as Rinion frowned and looked to one side.

Yet there was no more time to ponder it, for a guard approached the king and bowed before speaking.

"My King, the Inner Council is requesting an urgent audience."

Thranduil straightened, and before long, Mithrandir and Rinion were beside him, with The Company striding boldly into the Throne Room, Glorfindel with them.

"Show them in," said Thranduil in a strong voice as he walked forward to hear what they would say.

"Commander General Gelegon, General Huron, Captain's Forhen, Dunorel, Thoron, Lanthir, Tirion and Eramir, my King," declared the herald, before stepping aside.

The eight commanders strode powerfully into the Throne Room, their eyes trained upon the king before them, aware of everyone's eyes upon them.

"Commander General, what news from the Inner Circle," asked Thranduil imperiously.

"My King, we have been gathered for the last four days, four days in which we have put the warrior Legolas to the test. I will tell you, my King, lest rumour reach you, that given the time restrictions and the extraordinary claims that have been made, together with the demands made by the Silvan people, that this test was not our standard trial. It was a test of strength, physical and mental, of skill both of the body and the mind, a test of his moral and ethical beliefs, of his _loyalties._ It has not been easy, my King, and we beg your understanding…"

Thranduil stared back impassively, for he would have a very good idea as to why Celegon was apologising, for that was precisely what he was doing.

"I understand, Commander General Celegon. I trust this army implicitly."

"Thank you my King. A vote has been taken and was unanimous - Warrior Legolas is to be promoted forthwith, to the rank of First Lieutenant, and subjected to a trial period of five years, after which the Inner Circle will convene once more to discuss his future.

We have also agreed to favour the request that Lieutenant Legolas be invested as the Warlord of the Silvan people, subject to negotiation of the finer points of that office. We are confident of his loyalties and will defend that his service in this capacity will be a benefit to Greenwood the Great, and not just the Silvan people. If a higher rank corresponds to their Warlord, that will have no effect on his status as Lieutenant in this Army and will be regarded as purely, ceremonial."

He paused here and finally allowed his eyes to stray.

The king's eyes sparkled and Glorfindel smiled calmly.

"Your decision pleases me, Commander General. That this army declares itself in favour of the requests of the Silvan people is good news indeed. Yet we must still convince the council, of course," he said as he turned first to Mithrandir and then to Aradan, Handir and Rinion.

"May I add, my King," said Celegon with a step forward, that during these last four days, this army has learned from the errors it has made and some - difficult decisions have been taken."

"What decisions?" asked Rinion, joining the talk for the first time.

"Barathon Bandorion and Brethil Draugolion have been stripped of their ranks, and in the case of Brethil, he has also been stripped of his Master Swordsman status."

There was stunned silence for a moment, before Rinion smirked, and then uttered a single word.

"Good."

Celegon's right eyebrow rose in surprise, and Thranduil nodded his understanding. "This will make the Council more difficult than it already will be. Celegon, you must be prepared - they may be some major - dissent - after this council. I will need your men of full alert."

"I understand, my King, and we are prepared."

"We have two hours to prepare, before this Hall is full and we must state our case. I am dismissing this session until the Council at the eighteenth hour," said the king, turning to leave, but Celegorn had not finished.

"My king, I wonder, if I could have a private word."

Thranduil turned to meet his eyes, seeing the importance of whatever it was he needed to say, and so he ushered for the Commander to follow him, and soon enough, they sat together in the king's office, with Handir and Rinion at his side.

"My Lord, what I have to say now is based only on intuition and unfounded suspicion, but I thought it important enough to speak to you of it for it as been nagging me for the last day.

"Speak plainly, Celegon," said the king, leaning forward until his elbows rested on the table before him.

"When I communicated our decision to Barathon, he made comments that suggest - that the queen - was loved by someone at this court - I mean - _well_ loved, my King…"

Thranduil stared back at Celegon, understanding exactly what he had said.

"He suggested, that due to this circumstance, that he himself and those around him, were so - adverse to the Silvan being promoted or backed in any way by this army. In a word, my King, they hate him and it seems to have something to do with this - admirer- the queen had. Does that make any sense, my King?" asked Celegon, watching the king closely.

"Not yet, Celegon, not yet. But the information is valuable, no doubt. You did well to come to me with this."

"I understand this may not be important, but the origin of this Sindarin dominance, this - hatred almost, of the Silvan people, and then the utter rejection of a small part of this army against Legolas - it seems to be related, Thranduil, although I cannot be sure…"

There was silence in the office for long moments, for the implications of what Celegon said were deep and serious.

"I will let you think on that then. For my part, should any further information make itself known, I will, of course, report back to you."

"Thank you, Celegon. You are important to me, to this kingdom - you have my thanks," said the king, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere, and Celegon could not blame him for that, not after what he had just told him.

He turned to leave but stopped himself and turned once more.

"My King. I wanted to - congratulate you," he said, almost as if he had surprised himself with his own choice of words. "Your son is strong, brave, skilled and keen of mind. He is noble and loyal and the Inner Circle is in agreement - he is the most prodigious warrior and future commander we have ever seen, in any of our long lives…"

Thranduil looked overjoyed but Rinion's face reflected surprise, where Handir's was blank, as if he already knew that.

"He has a major role to play in the defence of this Realm, my lord, one this army will help him with for you see, in spite of his age and inexperience - he has earned our loyalty. Somehow, he has awoken in us a new light, a new beginning…" he trailed off, smiled somewhat insecurely and then bowed, and left, leaving the three royals standing in absolute silence.

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He had only once been tireder than he was now and that had been after their ill-fated arrival in Imladris.

But today it was a different kind of tiredness, for it was not only physical. He had used all his resources in these past few days, had applied himself to his full capacity in every way so that he could secure for himself, for his mission, the future he needed in order to carry it out. It had been the single most important thing he had done in his admittedly short life.

Yet all he wanted to do now, was to find The Company, sit with them under the cool evening breeze, away from all those eyes that constantly looked to him, _at_ him, and share a glass of cold sweet wine. The thought seemed absurd for it was not yet the evening meal - how could he just appear there, after everything that had happened, with all the questions everyone would have?

He needed to speak to his father urgently, for there was the question of his status as a Protege that had gone undresses with Celegon; he needed advice, for he found he had no idea what the political implications would be yet neither did he have the slightest interest in lying or withholding information.

Nodding his head to himself, Legolas decided to find his father and so, retrieving his hooded cloak, he donned it and left for the fortress, with only Koron en Naur at his shoulder.

Soon enough, miraculously almost, they had arrived and both elves entered Legolas' suite of rooms.

"I need a bath, Koron, and food and water and…"

"Stop!," smiled Koron. I will see to the water and food," he said and then hailed a guard from the hallway, but when he returned, Legolas stood transfixed before his bed, his eyes on what had, obviously been carefully laid out upon it - the uniform of an Elven First Lieutenant.

Koron came to stand at his shoulder, peering over it at the leather and light mail, the green velvet and the almost paper thin steel that made up the chest piece. Not quite as magnificent as the uniform of a captain, but fine it was, and Legolas found his breath stolen from him as the true magnitude of what he had done finally hit him.

Koron en Naur placed a hand on his shoulder. "I have one of these, and it pains me to say I have not cared for it for a long time."

"Why?" came the almost absent question.

"Because I could not find my strength, my purpose…"

"And now?" asked Legolas, turning to meet Koron's eyes.

"Now, when you are safe and this is over, I will polish it, oil it, clean and press it and then I will wear it, with pride, at your side."

Legolas' eyes filled and he smiled. "I am honoured then, to have you with me, on this journey, Koron en Naur."

The Sinda nodded and allowed himself a weak smile, but there truly was fire behind his grey eyes, a fire that had been lit only the previous day, but that now, would never be doused.

A curt knock on the door revealed a guard. "Urgent news, Lord Legolas. You are being hailed by the king."

Koron en Naur stepped up beside Legolas and answered the guard.

"Please inform the king that Lord Legolas will be with him in one hour."

The guard frowned slightly, but nodded all the same, turning upon his heel and striding away.

Soon enough, water and food was brought by the household staff that stared in open curiosity at Legolas as they went about their business, and when they left, they did so amongst a flurry of hushed words that rapidly spread like wildfire amongst the summer brush, until everyone within the fortress knew, that Legolas had returned from the Inner Council.

But Legolas heard none of it, for he lay in the steaming water, trying and failing to relax himself. It was useless, for he knew that if his father searched for him, it was because the Inner Circle had made their ruling known to him, indeed the appearance of his new uniform was testimony to that. Even so it had been a surprise and Legolas wondered if his father had prepared it, in anticipation of his promotion.

Noise in the sitting area of his suite beyond the bathing chamber door, spoke of visitors, and then the deep rumbling voice of Ram en Ondo told him The Company had found him. He smiled, for suddenly his strength returned to him and he opened his eyes. It was time…

Squeezing out his soaking hair and towelling it as dry as he could get it, he pulled on his new black breeches, marvelling at the fine material and perfect cut, for they fit him to perfection, hugged his powerful thighs and calves without impeding his movement.

Next, he reached for the pale green tunic that hung down to his calves, split up the front and sides so as to favour riding and fighting.

Opening the door to his rooms, he stood there for a moment and smiled at the sight that greeted him. Idhrenohtar, Ram en Ondo, Lindohtar, Rhrawthir, Rafnohtar, Glamohtar, and Koron en Naur - The Company - his most loyal friends and brothers.

Legolas smiled, his eyes wandering over them all, registering their impeccable uniforms, their shining swords and knives, their perfectly braided hair. Turning finally to Koron en Naur, the Ball of Fire spoke.

"You look mighty fine, brothers," he said with a smile.

"And you look like a warrior returning from Dol Guldur," said Rhrawthir with a scowl.

Legolas giggled before he answered. "From the very pits of Mordor itself, brothers, for the Inner Council are no less fearsome."

Tutting, Rafnohtar pulled him to a chair and opened a cloth back that sat crossed over his chest. Soon, he was spreading a cold cream onto the bruise that was still visible upon Legolas' cheek, and the other at his temple. "Do I even want to know how this happened?" he asked ironically.

"Nay, you do not, Rafno," answered Legolas as he reached for the food and began to eat heartily.

"Did they starve you too?" asked Lindohtar sarcastically, and then startled as Koron en Naur simply answered,

"Yes."

A short silence followed, but it did not last for long, as the questions began to flow and Legolas answered them as best he could in between bites of food and long drinks of water. Koron en Naur answered some of them, when Legolas was too busy eating, until soon, there was silence once more, the eyes of The Company now resting on the mercurial Sinda.

"You have changed," said Idhrenohtar. "You are not the same elf we knew just four days ago - what has happened?" he asked.

Koron smiled. "Indeed I am changed. It is funny, for my life has been so long, so full of experiences both good and bad, but the most important ones, those that irremediably changed my life on an essential level, took but blinks of the eye. Oropher died in one tragic instant and I fell from grace. Legolas appeared and pulled me back up in one, heart-lifting moment.

The Company sat in silence, yet understanding came to them swiftly, and Rafnohtar turned to the Sinda. "What is your name, then, brother?" he said with a smile.

"Koron en Naur - Ball of Fire, that is my name," he said proudly, with a smile of his own.

Lindohtar's eyebrows rose in interest. "Another song for me to compose then," he smirked. "When all this is over and we are free to serve our land once more, I will delight you with the heroic deeds of the legendary warriors of The Company!" he said theatrically.

"For now though, keep your booted feet on the ground, Lindo. I must present myself before the council in but two hours and before that, there is an important issue I must address with the king. Today - is the first day of my duty to my Lady, brothers, for I must secure this agreement so that the Silvan people claim me as their warlord. It is the perfect opportunity for me to serve the forest, just as she has commanded."

"It will not be easy," said Rafnotar. "Bandorion and Draugole will see to that," he said.

Legolas turned to him, his face blank as he spoke. "And more so, when they find out that their sons," he emphasised, "have been demoted, stripped of their captaincies and their Master grades."

"What?" said Ram en Ondo in shock.

"They were expelled, for misconduct, for their ranks and privileges were not gained upon the strengths of their own merits - that much became clear during the trial…."

"Lindo - stop!" shouted Rhawthir in anticipation- "We _know!_ Another story to put music to!" he smiled and they all chuckled.

"Then come, brothers. Let us show this council, the Silvans, the King and his advisors, who Legolas is; Hwindohtar, future Silvan Warlord," said Idhrenothar, his eyes moving from one to the other, watching as they nodded their understanding. Legolas had walked into this room a simple elf, but he would leave it as a Lord, a Lieutenant, a Warlord.

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Thranduil stood, magnificent in his kingly attire, before the full-length windows of his official office, with Rinion and Handir sitting further away, talking quietly, their crowns of office upon their shining hair as was expected of them in formal Councils.

Mithrandir, Aradan and Glorfindel also donned their best today, for words of import would be spoken, and the game of rhetoric and veiled intention was as about to start.

Two knocks upon the oak doors heralded a guard.

"Lieutenant Legolas Thranduilion," he called, and the king turned from the window to face the door.

There, stood his son in his new uniform. It fit him perfectly, he mused as his eyes travelled over the glorious warrior that stood before him - his _son_ \- he reminded himself.

Yet this was no ordinary lieutenant, for this elf had hair longer and thicker than any maiden, and eyes that spoke a thousand words in every shade of green. His strong body and angular features lent a power to him that could not be denied, and the light he emanated spoke of a strength as yet unseen, a force that attracted, that instilled empathy, that gave reason for pause.

"Legolas," said the king simply.

Bowing, he walked forward, purposefully keeping his eyes trained on his father, for he could not be distracted now from his purpose by questions that would wait.

"My King. I must speak with you, seek your council on a matter of importance, before the Council begins."

"Speak," he invited, nodding at the guard to leave and close the doors.

"During the trials, they asked me if I was a Listener. I told them I was. I was - unsure of the wisdom of telling them I am a protege, and I am left with the worry that the army will consider my - _understatement_ as a wilful lie."

"Why did not not tell them?" asked Handir as he approached his father and brother.

"I was being questioned, in every sense of the word. My physical strength, my loyalty. There was much - antagonism - so much I believed that by adding one more ingredient into the mix, it would tip the balance against me. It was a tactical move I am now unsure was wise."

The king spared a glance at Handir and then at Aradan.

Glorfindel came to stand by Legolas, a strong hand clasping his shoulder briefly, for now was not the time for affections.

"If this information had been withheld from me, I would be angry in hindsight. I believe Celegon at least, should know. He can then decide the wisdom of sharing that with the Inner Circle."

Silence ensued for a while as they considered the question.

"We have secured his loyalty, that of the army in this request, he cannot go against that now," said the king.

"No, he cannot. But I do not think he would respect it," said Aradan. "I believe we should tell him - now - before the council begins. Show him we are giving him the opportunity to retract."

Legolas turned back to the king and nodded. "I agree."

"Very well," said Thranduil. "Guard," he shouted, waiting for the doors to open. "Send for Commander General Celegon with all haste."

"Legolas," smiled Glorfindel, placing a hand over his now armoured heart.

"Glorfindel," said Legolas softly, before clasping his tutor's forearms affectionately, a fondness in his eyes that Thranduil watched with interest.

"Are you alright?" he said quietly, his eyes roving over his slightly bruised face.

"Yes - I am - now. I should have listened to you, Glorfindel. You warned me but I did not understand just what you meant…"

"I know," he smiled fondly. "And perhaps that is just as well, the outcome has been magnificent," he said proudly.

After a moment of silence, Legolas looked to the floor, as if to gather himself, before speaking again, but a whisper to those that watched on in fascination.

"Thank you."

Glorfindel's eyes widened marginally for a moment, before a contented smile bloomed on his ancient face.

"You are very welcome, Lieutenant," he said, his fingers brushing over the carvings on his mithril vambraces.

The moment was broken by the arrival of Commander General Celegon, who bowed low to the king, and then rose with a look of apprehension on his face.

"Commander. I have summoned you here upon the request of Lieutenant Legolas," began the king, and Celegon's face seemed to pale before their eyes, thinking perhaps that the Silvan had formally complained of their treatment of him during the trial.

"Some information was withheld from you, and which must now be revealed, so that you may change for mind before it is too late…"

Turning challengingly to Legolas, he spoke as a commander does to his lieutenant. "What have you kept from me, lieutenant."

But far from cowering before the imposing presence of the Commander General, Legolas spoke calmly and evenly.

"You asked me if I was a listener, and I said yes…" he began, watching for signs that Celegon indeed remembered the moment.

"Yes, continue…"

"That was an understatement, Commander General. At the time, I was being questioned on various fronts; had I elaborated I felt the consequences may have been - detrimental."

"Ah," he said, turning away from Legolas for a moment. "Then whatever it was that you withheld must have been - important indeed, for during all that time I never once saw your courage falter, Legolas."

"It was not a question of courage, Commander General, but of being believed…" he emphasised.

"I am intrigued then, for you are about to tell me something out of the ordinary, if I am not mistaken…" he said, his eyes now fixed on Legolas, bright and excitedly.

"I am not a listener; I am Yavanna's Protege…"

Celegon's eyes became brighter and wider and his breath became audible.

"Celegon," came Glorfindel's confident voice, and Celegon turned his head sharply towards Imladris' Commander General.

"It is true. I was there, Elrond, Mithrandir here too, knows the truth of it."

"Indeed, Commander," said the wizard as he stepped closer to Celegon, who stood as if frozen.

"There can be no question of his claim - but you _do_ see - why he would hesitate to tell you, in the circumstances in which he found himself," said Mithrandir.

"I - I do," came Celegon's shaky voice. "I am - not an unlearned elf - and as such I know that a Protege has a purpose…" he said, turning back to Legolas, who was watching him intensely.

"My duty, is to protect the forests of Arda, and all those who dwell within," said Legolas simply.

Celegon held his eyes before nodding his understanding. "While this is - incredible in itself," he began, "it does not change my opinion, must not change the decision of the Inner Circle, for we tested you in every way we could. You are loyal to this land and to your king and that is _all_ that matters here. I will reveal this to the captains - when the time is right - not before," he added, his voice becoming stronger now.

"I wonder though," he said as he thought, "do you think perhaps the Silvans knew? Their claim, their - request - for the return of the Warlord is surely no coincidence…."

Mithrandir frowned while the rest started a little at the implications of Celegon's words.

"How could they possibly have known?" asked Aradan.

"I do not know," said Celegon. "I simply state the obvious from one that sees this from the outside. Legolas' mission is identical to the one the Silvans ask for - perhaps they did not know the specifics," continued Celegon, "but that they suspected - I do not think we can deny that…" he said, his eyes landing heavily upon those of the king.

" _Narosen_ …" said Legolas, his eyes unfocussed as he remembered his first mission as a warrior in the forest, with Lainion and Tirion.

"Narosen, the Spirit Herder?" asked Handir, for he had met him just that very morning.

"Yes," he mumbled. "There was an episode, when I still did not understand what was wrong with me. I touched a sentinel…"

"A sentinel?" asked Glorfiindel.

"A master tree," clarified Legolas. "A father, or mother, one that protects the rest. "I was - perturbed …

 _"Do not be afraid…" said the Spirit Herder, watching in fascination as a white-blue light was reflected in the boy's green eyes, a light that he himself could not see._

 _"What…."_

 _"It is a good thing, Silvan. Feel it, let it in… for Kementari has blessed you."_

"He _knew!_ " exclaimed Legolas. "Only now do I realise but somehow, he knew… Mithrandir," he said pleadingly almost as he turned to the wizard.

"His words were prophetic indeed… I must speak with this … _Narosen_ ," said the Maia, the sparkle of excitement in his ancient, blue eyes.


	57. The Council

Author's note: OK - this has taken a little longer than usual, but I think you will understand when you read it - there was a lot to pack in here. The Council is a long one, so hang in there, you will be duly rewarded at the end :)

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Violet: LOL-naughty girl, but I DO agree, we have to get things into perspective but don't worry, I haven't forgotten about that outfit, it was designed by the best and with real thought to it - as we shall find out.

Guest 1345: No problems. You could just cut and paste the text instead of uploading the document - I work with a mac and an iPad and never had any problems - PM me if you need any more info on that.

Ninde: gracias, amiga. Sé que hay muchas intrigas aún por resolver, pero a partir de ahora, empezaremos a ver la luz al final del túnel

Noph: Thanks!, and the sleeping elf, yes - sorry, just a little longer to wait for that :)

Earthdragon: Thanks for that, I got picked up by quite a few of you for that. As a bilingual person, I sometimes use words that have different connotations in English with respect to Spanish - hence 'corpulent' in Spanish means 'strong' rather than 'fat'. I have edited the chapter now. Also, the dreamer that calls out 'Aglareb' is actually not Legolas…

Lara: Gracias amiga: Efectivamente, Narosen o lo sabia o lo sospechaba - y Maeneth está en camino, aunque nadie lo sabe - todavia…

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Chapter fifty-seven: The Council

"No, a little less, I used the medium-sized spoon as a reference."

"Alright. I will make up another batch and store it for a week in the same place, after which we can sit and try to separate the elements, is that how it works?" asked Nestaron, his eyes greedy for the information, blue irises staring into intelligent light grey.

"Yes," answered Elladan a little hesitantly, "although my father is the true expert in this. I will write to him tomorrow, explain what has happened and ask for his council on the matter. If I know him at all he will be banging on the great doors in exactly two weeks time!"

"Elrond? _Here_?" asked Nestaron, his disbelieving eyes sparkling with the very thought.

"Well, perhaps not, but the discovery merits it, Nestaron, this you know," said Elladan as they arrived at the fortress and entered the cool mountain halls.

"Hwindohtar!" came a shout that made Elladan jump and turn. There, a Silvan warrior saluted proudly as a smiling Legolas passed him and returned it, and Rafnohtar grinned, for there was a joy in the Silvan's eye that could not be denied, in spite of the Council that was due to start in mere minutes.

"Rafnohtar," said Legolas as he approached the two healers, his eyes momentarily alighting on Nestaron who stared back at him in something akin to stupor, for the healer had only ever seen him dishevelled and dressed in rags. Now, however, his extraordinary hair sat upon his head in neat braids and twists, his uniform shining as it sat over the sheer silk of his long under-tunic.

"Healer Nestaron," nodded Legolas formally.

Nestaron nodded back, unsure, it seemed, as to what to call him. Silvan, Legolas, Hwindohtar?

"Well, Elladan, I will get back. Let me know when you have news from your Lord father and I will keep you abreast of our - _brew,_ " he smiled, and Elladan returned it.

Alone now, Rafno and Hwindo walked together towards the great Council Hall.

"So, this is it," said Rafno, shooting Legolas a sideways glance, not quite sure why he would be in such a pleasant mood, but he was.

"Where is the rest of The Company, Elladan?" asked Legolas as they walked.

They are in the public area, for they have no place within the circle. They were adamant about procuring for themselves a good vantage point, lest the need arise to trounce Barathon or Brethil," he smirked.

Legolas snorted, "they can get into line then."

"Lieutenants!" came the deep voice of Commander General Glorfindel, but only Elladan turned elbowing Legolas as he did so.

Glorfindel saluted them both, watching in mischief as a somewhat embarrassed Legolas returned it. "Not yet used to it, eh? You soon will be, and you will find it more of a nuisance than anything else!" he smiled.

"Yes, well, I am entitled to a twenty-four hour adaptation period, surely! moaned Legolas as he straightened his uniform.

"Does it pull?" smirked Glorfindel.

"No!" said Legolas, with a boyish smile, "it's just - very fancy," he said, looking down at himself.

"You look very handsome, Hwindo, ignore this Gondolindrim," said Elladan with a wave of the hand. "We should be getting along, I will join The Company in the public area; I will see you later?" he asked, his face serious once more.

"I do not know, Rafno - I hope so," he said apologetically.

"Come," said Glorfindel, "let's get this over with," he said, and with that, Legolas and Elladan clasped forearms for the last time that day, the Noldo's sparkling grey eyes falling heavily on Legolas' green irises.

"Tell them why you must be for the Silvans, convince them of your loyalty, show them they can trust you," he said.

"I will try," said Legolas, "I can do no more."

"Nay, you cannot - but it will be enough," said Elladan with an encouraging smile. "Beguile them, my friend, as only you know how…"

Legolas smiled at his friend, a wide and genuine smile that for a moment, took away the apprehension that Elladan could now see, and he supposed Glorfindel did to.

Soon enough, Legolas entered the Council Hall together with Glorfindel, and the habitual mantle of silence settled over the gathered crowds. They watched the Silvan as he made his way towards Prince Handir, while Glorfindel sat at Mithrandir's side with one last encouraging nod at Legolas. The King too, stopped his conversation with Aradan to watch, catching his son's eyes and giving him a minute nod and an approving gaze at his appearance. Legolas bowed formally, before sitting beside Handir, finally allowing his eyes to rove over the councillors that would participate.

Twenty elves, predominantly Sindarin, made up the Permanent Council, and every one of them wore fine garments of the best quality silk and velvet. Long tunics similar to those of the Noldor, billowing cloaks and opulent jewellery as was the Sindarin way … they looked splendid to Legolas' unaccustomed eyes and he suddenly realised he did not stand out amongst them in his own, fine new uniform. It bought him a modicum of confidence and he breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind before the council began.

He was unsure whether he would be called upon to speak at this point for he was not a member of this council, indeed he was a guest, albeit he sat in the circle. He was reminded then, of a conversation he had had with Handir in Imladris, when his brother had told Legolas that the Council room was every bit a battlefield of its own and he had believed that. His own lack of experience left him open to the possibility of being shredded to pieces should he open his mouth and that would not be good for his pretensions at all.

And so he prayed that the councillors would sort this out between themselves, that Handir would do his part, just as he had promised he would, and that Legolas could simply watch, listen, and perhaps learn.

And as Legolas took those final few minutes to calm himself, Handir watched his brother as he, in turn, watched the lords and councillors. Such a strong profile, mused the prince, similar to Rinion, he thought, for he had that same, determined look on his face that sharpened the curve of his jaw and the ridge of his nose.

His slanted green eyes sparkled, with what Handir could not say but as yet, he did not seem overly nervous and that in itself was a good thing, for although the council had not yet started, the Councillors had already begun to form their own opinions of Legolas; his appearance, his expression, his body language would be giving them much information and Handir approved of the impression he rather thought Legolas had caused so far.

Except of course, with Bandorion and Draugole, who made no effort at all to hide their contempt, for their lips curled in disgust as they spoke, their eyes fixed upon his younger brother. What must it be like? he wondered, to feel that hatred turned against you, feel it as it permeated the skin and sat like heavy metal upon the levity of one's soul… Legolas would be accustomed to it, he realised sadly.

Turning his eyes now to he public area, he found it brimming. The Company stood off to one side, and Lieutenant Galadan stood close by, together with General Huron and Captain Dunorel. Barathon and Brethil, dressed as civilians, stood skulking in the shadows as they spoke quietly with one another. There was another elf with them, dressed as a warrior, and Handir suddenly realised it was the trainee lieutenant Silor, the one that had caused such strife on the way to Imladris.

So they meant to speak, thought Handir, to discredit Legolas with everything they had; Barathon and Brethil's demotion, Silor's slanted report… But then Celegon had been there, he would be able to refute it - perhaps - if, of course, he had even seen what Silor had. Whichever the case, they seemed confident they would be given the word, for only the members of the Permanent Council had the right to speak freely.

The plain truth was, that the only real weapon the Sindar had against Legolas, was their ability to call on the elder days, and to do so with their admittedly skilful minds and tongues. That, and to call into play Legolas' illegitimate begetting, for that did not sit well with many of the ancient Sindarin families. They could also bring his tender age into play, of course, or question his loyalty to his new-found family, but Handir felt confident that Celegon and Glorfindel's reports would be more than sufficient to refute their claims.

Turning to the king, Handir watched as Aradan talked with him and his father listened attentively as he allowed his own eyes to watch the Hall. His father was shrewd, skillful, intuitive like few others, save perhaps for the uncanny Commander General Celegon, and Aradan himself, his own tutor.

There was a lull in the conversation, as Lefnui, their Lore Master, walked slowly into the circle, waiting to be announced, and in his arms, sat a heavy tome.

Three resounding claps of wood upon stone soon immersed the Hall in expectant silence, and yet Handir's mind was full of noise for now was the moment he had been preparing himself for. It was no longer time for timid opinion and insecure words. He had to secure his brother's naming as Warlord, and with it, secure his own place within the Permanent Council.

"My Lords, Ladies, Councillors," began the Master of Ceremonies, Sedren. "This Council is declared in session," he called out, turning to every councillor and guest sitting in the circle.

"We are gathered here today, to discuss and decide upon the request brought to us, by the Silvan people. Specifically, this request is for the restitution of the figure of the Silvan Warlord, and that specifically, this office should be given to Lord Legolas, son of Thranduil King."

There were soft murmurs around the circle, and many glances cast in Legolas' direction, and Handir watched as Legolas simply settled his eyes on Sedren and allowed no emotion to show on his face. He was good, he mused.

"The Lore Master, Lefnui, will read to us a passage from the Book of Silvan Lore, so that we may all understand what it is the Silvan people are asking of us."

"Lefnui…" he said, yielding the centre of the circle to the Lore Master.

Lefnui stood tall and strange as he opened his book and held it open on a page. There, was a colourful illustration of an elf. He stood tall and defiant, his legs and arms open and his face stared back at the reader challengingly. He looked dangerous for upon his back, sat a mighty bow and sword, and at his belt, hung daggers and knives.

His hair was completely braided, adorned with beads and stones and shells, and around his shoulders, instead of a luscious, lordly cloak, were wolf skins. His strong, muscled chest was bare, save for the leather harnesses of his weapons, and there were strange drawings upon his shoulders and his abdomen.

When Lefnui was sure they had all seen it, he brought the book to his face and read.

"The supreme warrior of our people, is named Warlord, for he is good and he is just, his skill at war unrivalled.

Our Warlord travels our forests, rids it of our enemies, protects our crops and animals, defends our Nandorin nature as dwellers under the trees, as lovers of all things growing and wholesome.

His only Commander is the Silvan people for he stands in service of them and in return he is respected, and obeyed in all things relative to his commitment.

The Silvan people have no higher leader, and a Warlord may not be appointed by any other than the Silvan Council. Yet theirs too, is the prerogative to destitute him should they so deem it just.

There can be no Warlord without the Silvan people, and no Silvan nation without a Warlord…"

He closed the book carefully, bowed, and then left the circle.

The Master of Ceremonies spoke again then, breaking the introspective silence that had followed Lefnui's reading.

"The debate is open. Consensus must be reached with a majority vote."

Thorontur was the first to stand and walk into the circle. Bowing, he cast his eyes around the circle as any good Councillor would, and then gave his opinion.

"As I understand this, the Warlord is a warrior who may or may not be a member of the Greenwood army. In this case, Lord Legolas is a lieutenant and as such, if he were to be named Warlord, would have precisely the rank of Lieutenant. I believe the Warlord is a more ceremonial figure, a representative, a spokesperson. At present, the Silvan people have no real, elected leader, indeed only recently in the Greenwood Summit, we saw Lords Erthoron and Lorthil sharing that role. If it is their Warlord to represent them, I have no qualms neither to the creation of this figure, nor to Lord Legolas fulfilling it, so long as he answers to his military rank, and is loyal to this realm."

Returning to his seat, it was Lenwë the Silvan, who next walked into the circle.

"Indeed, my Lords, Thorontur is correct. Our Warlord is not a Silvan Commander, as is Lord Celegon. He is a leader of warriors, a defender of our forests, he will be our voice should we need to be heard on a collective level, and it will be us to take that honour away, should he fail in his service to his people. It must not be seen as a threat to the harmony of our land - on the contrary, it is a sign of trust from one people to another - the Sindar to the Silvan, for just as we Silvans serve our King Thranduil - a Sindarin Lord, we ask that you concede this one thing to the Silvan people - our Warlord."

Lenwe bowed and then sat and Handir knew that now, the turmoil would begin, indeed, Merylyth was next, amidst a silence so great even the rustle of her skirts could be heard.

"My Lords. By definition, a Warlord is a leader, and as a leader, he has leave to command. I find it hard to correlate this supposedly ceremonial figure who is subject to the standard military hierarchy, with the definition itself. By conceding a Warlord, we would effectively be creating a co-commander, and even if that is not, theoretically the case, in practice, it would be so.

For now, my vote will be against this petition and against he who is proposed to fulfil it."

Handir glanced at Aradan, whose eyes were narrow and sharp. He knew that look, indeed, Aradan stood and took the floor, and Handir braced himself for a demonstration of pure skill and intelligence that was about to be witnessed.

My Lady, my Lords. Lady Merylyth has effectively summed up the problem I believe to be at the root of many objections. She is against the Warlord because it would be effectively naming a co-commander - a _Silvan_ commander, and you see that as a problem, you believe it should not be allowed. "Why would you think that, my Lady?

You see, I wonder, if it is a purely logical problem, whereby two commanders may or may not work effectively together, or whether it is because one of them - is Silvan…

I hope and pray that this is not the case, my Lady, for the question at hand is not to judge the Silvan people. There must be no question of their loyalty to the crown and therefore, their Warlord, should he come into existence, would also be loyal to the crown. This is not about two sides, it is about one common front against the enemy, for the Greenwood.

Needless to say, I am in agreement with the Silvan people's request and that Lord Legolas should be the one to carry out that role. However, I do see the need to negotiate the exact terms in so far as his specific duties and responsibilities. That, however, is a secondary issue that our Commanders and king must discuss. We, the _civilian_ council, are here to decide whether or not to grant the creation of a Silvan spokesperson, albeit he will be military in nature - it is no more than that, my Lords, and no less."

Aradan bowed and returned to his sit, careful not to let his eyes fall on anyone as he did so.

"You make it sound so frivolous, Lord Aradan," said Draugole in his characteristically droll voice as he floated into the circle. "A Silvan _spokesperson_ … did you see that drawing, my Lord? _I_ did, and I tell you now, that was no spokesperson," he scoffed. "That - was a _warrior_ , a fierce, dangerous warrior - is that what we want as a spokesperson for the forest dwellers? I do not… I see this as an open threat, a way in which the Silvan people wish to gain autonomy for themselves, a schism, a wedge they drive between us. I will not agree with this, and much less the one proposed for it."

And with that, he walked back to his place and sat, his face defiant as it scanned the remaining councillors, only to rest finally upon Legolas.

"Drive a wedge between us…" began Celegon as he strode into the circle. " _You,_ speak of wedges, Lord Draugole? As Commander General, not only do I see no threat, but a true advantage to this new figure. It would drastically improve our military intelligence, our planning and strategy, it will bolster the morale of our Silvan warriors not _against_ the Sindar - but in _favour_ of our army - return to them their sense of pride and duty, something they seem to have lost over these past centuries.

You see a fierce and dangerous warrior, indeed that is what Lord Legolas is, but you fail to understand that he is on _our side_ \- he is one of _us!_

Give them their Warlord, for he will be subject to the same military laws as any of us - this is not about Sindar - Silvan schisms - it is about working together. I am highly in favour of this new figure, and I whole-heartedly support Lieutenant Legolas' claim to that office."

"Of course you do," began Bandorion as he stood slowly. "Are you sure there is no Silvan blood in you, Commander General, for you speak like one of them," he said, garnering for himself more than a few whispered insults. "Now, if you need help in the forest, why not create an outpost? Station a regional commander there? That is all it would take and hence, I am against this absurd request. I must also make known my utter horror at the very thought of this - _warrior_ \- having any position of authority in our sacred army."

Handir could see the tension in his father's jaw but there was no other sign that he was otherwise annoyed. But one look at Lord Draugole told him that he was not pleased with Bandorion's manner and Handir was not surprised at all.

It was time, and he stood.

"My Lord Bandorion. Your suggestion of creating an outpost and dispatching a regional commander - what is the difference between that and what the Silvan people request? I will tell you - _nothing - at - all_. Except that of course, the regional commander would be Silvan, or ' _one of them'_ as you have described our woodland brothers. And of course this Warlord would have a ceremonial title which really should not concern you at all. I wonder, therefore, at your reticence and the nature of it for you see, you make no sense. Could you perhaps, elaborate, my Lord?" asked Handir with a pleasant smile on his face as he bowed, and returned to his seat, knowing full well he had just infuriated his distant uncle, but then again, that was exactly what he hoped to achieved for in this he knew Bandorion well, his anger would be his downfall.

The silence stretched on for longer than it had done so far but eventually, Bandorion rose, slowly and carefully, his eyes anchored on his second nephew.

"I will indeed elaborate, Prince Handir, so that you may understand my point more easily. It is not the same thing, for a Silvan Warlord is nothing less than a _king_ to them - it is an unnecessary figure that I feel is threatening to the sovereignty of this land. It feels aggressive. It will rally the Silvans until they turn against us and then what do we do? Rule a land that is divided? No - that would never work and I will not see my realm broken, fractured into tiny pieces all because the Silvans have a _whim!_ "

Handir rose once more but waited for a while for the harsh words to permeate. Only then, did he continue his final onslaught.

"I think we all see your point more clearly now, my Lord. Your choice of words is stunningly revealing. Let me see - ah yes - a Warlord is nothing less than a _king_ to them, or how about _a threatening, aggressive figure_ , or even better, you say the Silvans will turn against their king in favour of this Warlord…

And yet there are no grounds to assume the Nandor want civil war, my Lord. You say too, that you will not see your realm broken - but you see - it already is. The Silvan people are our warriors, they outnumber us five to one and yet you scoff at their culture? You call it a whim, you condone the outrageous prejudice against Silvan warriors becoming officers - you think nothing of that and now, after so much time, they are _angry,_ they are _hurt_ and they want their _identity_ back - you will it or no, Lord Bandorion. This is their land, as much as it can be called anyone's. Who are you to take from them their customs, their beliefs, their rights? Give this council one good reason why a Warlord should not be allowed to exist and I will hear you out - tell me it is redundant, tell me it serves no purpose, tell me it is more dangerous than the situation we already find ourselves in and I will listen and I will think. Until then, I am for the Silvan."

Instead of the shocked silence from before, a mighty cheer went up from the Public area and Handir chanced a glance at them. Their fists were held high and they smiled, while Barathon and Brethil simmered in seething anger.

Handir had played his hand, and Bandorion had allowed his anger to show, and with that loss of control came his true feelings on the matter. Handir hoped it would be enough.

Draugole was back in the circle now, and he pivoted on his heel as he engaged the eyes of every single councillor.

"We surely cannot take this popular talk seriously, indeed we all know why Prince Handir is for the Silvan request. You see, this new brother of his, has him submitted to his every whim. Lord Legolas has played his hand as poor orphan boy and our Prince, admittedly still young, has taken him in. Lord Legolas, is using him to achieve his goals and it is time for someone to open his eyes to the facts. This _elf_ ," he pointed directly at Legolas, "hates his Sindarin origins and wishes only to serve the Silvan people - make no mistake," he emphasised, "if we give him this power he will take it, and use it against us, break our nation and everything that our brave king Oropher strove to achieve.

Prince Handir will come to see that, one day. For now it is the responsibility of those of us old and experienced enough to read between the lines, it is we who must guide him on the right path. I beg of you, my brothers, do not give this power to those that will turn on us at the slightest of opportunities."

Handir disciplined himself, mercilessly quelling his rising anger lest he make the same mistake that Bandorion had, and so he stood slowly, and walked even more slowly into the circle, taking the time he needed before speaking for he was sure that whatever came out of his mouth now, may well tip the balance.

"Lord Draugole. I am indeed young, but what has that to do with my arguments? As a councillor, my Lord, you will have an intimate knowledge of what is called a 'fallacy.' However, I am confused for you have used more than one in your speech. You call me young and thus seek to discredit my argument - why do you not attack my argument instead? I will tell you why - because you cannot and hence you resort to the use of fallacies, thinking perhaps that those that listen, will not notice what it is you do. This, to me, seems characteristic of a trainee Councillor, not a member of the Permanent Council.

Secondly, you suggest 'this elf,' he pointed at Legolas, "has me under his control, has tricked and manipulated me in order to gain his own evil intentions. I will tell you now, my Lord, that you have not once seen me together with my brother, that you have no way of knowing the relationship we share and so you see, again, your accusations are a non starter, another fallacy…" he stopped here for effect and tutted three times.

"Serious mistakes indeed, Lord Draugole but there is more. You claim that if Legolas is granted the status of Warlord, that he will use that power against us, to break us. Let me tell you what I know to be the facts, facts that many elves in this room will give testimony to.

He dropped back from a broken patrol on the way to Imladris, to defend them single-handedly against the marauding wargs, risked his life to get them to safety. Commander Celegon himself was there, as was Lieutenant Galadan, here present. But there is more… he saved two children, deep in the forest, against all odds, and he saved _my_ life, on the way here to the Greenwood. He then subjected himself to the Inner Circle, earned their respect and their approval so tell me, my Lord Draugole - why - you continue to doubt him, in spite of what your own kinsman say? But that was a _rhetorical_ question for you see I will answer it for you…

You hate him, both you and Lord Bandorion - you hate him because he is a bastard, because he is half sindarin and half silvan, you hate him for jealousy because he will bring splendour to the Silvan people, because he shamed your son in the sparring circle, precipitated his demotion and the stripping of his Master Swordsman title, but above all you hate him because he is Lassiel's son…!" said Handir, his eyes wide and challenging, for that last accusation was a risk, and he knew it.

"That is your only reason for disagreeing to the request of the Silvan people. It is that simple my Lords," he said, addressing them all now. "We cannot allow this prejudice to continue, it is unhealthy and unbecoming of our people and it disgusts me. Lord Legolas is our king's son, and as such is my brother but that does not influence my beliefs. He is the best warrior we have, he is loyal unto giving his own life, he has the _advantage_ of shared blood - there is no other that would do this job better than him."

Bandorion made to stand but Draugole held him back discreetly by the forearm, his own furious gaze silently telling his friend to hold, that there would, perhaps, be another opportunity, when the time came to vote.

Sedren, the Master of Ceremony stepped into the circle, his great staff clicking over the stone.

"Are there any more voices that would be heard?" he asked in his booming voice. But Handir's words still echoed in their minds, permeated their own beliefs and mingled, rendering them all speechless and in need of deep thought.

"This council will vote in one hour. The session is closed!" he proclaimed, bringing his staff down with force.

Quiet murmuring accompanied the Councillors as they stood, their eyes seeking out Handir, before leaving to ponder their votes, yet those in the public area remained, for should they leave, they would surely lose their places.

As for Thranduil, he stood, and left, together with Mithrandir, Glorfindel, Aradan and his three sons, but they did not speak until they were safely inside the king's offices and the door firmly shut.

Turning abruptly, the king's eyes settled on Handir's. He seemed enraged for his eyes sparkled and his jaw was clenched, his body rigid and his fists balled at his sides. Handir was worried, terrified almost. He knew he had pushed his luck, and this was the proof of it.

He closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself and when he opened them his father was standing but inches from him.

"I am so sorry," whispered the king.

Handir's brow twitched in confusion.

"I am so sorry for taking you for granted, sorry for allowing you to believe I do not love you, that I am not proud of you. I am sorry for so many things, my son…"

"Father…"

"No - Handir - listen to me. I have never," he faltered, glancing at the floor for a moment before looking back up at his son. "I have never been prouder of you than I am now. You shone out there on the Council floor, your speech was flawless, incisive, clear and bold, cutting and intelligent, poignant and simply - brilliant," he stressed as his eyes trembled and sparkled. "I am so very full of love and admiration for you this day," he added quietly, before opening his arms and encircling Handir in an embrace so fierce it took him by surprise, until his own arms lifted and then snaked around his father's back and then held him. Years of grief, years of numbness, years of solitude and insecurity, fell away as their embrace strengthened and tears came to Handir's eyes.

Glorfindel and Mithrandir smiled indulgently at the rare display of fatherly love, and Rinion watched in what seemed to be fascination, while Legolas smiled wide and toothy.

Finally, King and Prince stepped back and looked at each other as if they had not set eyes on one another for seven hundred years.

"I love you too, father, and I have missed you - so very much…" whispered Handir through is tears. "And I am glad then, that my performance out there did not rile you," he chuckled.

Aradan stepped towards Handir then, and bowed low, as he would to Thranduil on formal ocasions. "I too, am proud - there is nothing more I can teach you, Councillor - I relieve you of your status as 'trainee.' Welcome to the Permanent Council and to the king's inner circle," he smiled and Handir returned it before turning to the others in the room, not quite knowing what to do or say.

But Legolas had no such problem and he spoke from where he stood.

"You once told me, in Imladris, that we would do this together, Handir. That you would leave me to wage war in the wilds, and that I would leave you to wage it in the Council Rooms. You told me we had a common cause, to serve our people, to make this land great once more and that, at the time, was all we shared. Yet now, after all these months together, after your service in the Council today, I too am proud - to have you as my brother, as my Prince."

Handir approached Legolas, his head cocked to one side as he walked, until he was close enough to stretch out one hand and place it over his brother's heart.

"And I am already proud of you - to see you fight, to see your light, to know that you are chosen by Yavanna and by your own Silvan people. You are an extraordinary elf and by your side, I cannot help but shine…"

Legolas could no longer hold his own tears and he did not try, instead walking into his brother and embracing him fiercely.

"By the _Valar_ , muttered Rinion with a scowl as he turned to the drinks table and poured himself a glass of wine, but Thranduil watched him from the side, sure of what he could see, for the scowl had become a smile no sooner he had turned from them and the King wondered for a moment, if his frozen son, was slowly thawing out.


	58. Baudh Gwaith

Author's note:

We are coming close to the truth now. The end of this chapter will reveal some of the mysteries, but there is a way to go yet.

Please do not judge the characters too harshly, at least until you have read the next few chapters - there is a lot of explaining and understanding to do.

Hold on to your seats, we are in for a very rough ride…

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GB12390: Maeneth is on her way my friend!

Rita Orca: thank you, my friend. Glad the council worked for you and that you enjoyed that rare bit of fluff at the end of the chapter - I am not a fluff writer, but I have my moments - LOL

Lara: genial - no te preocupes por escribir en español. Me alegro que te gustara el concilio y la actuación de Handir, la batalla que ya le dijo a Legolas que libraría cuando estaban en Imladris. Rinion, ai - qué estará pensando? Pero bueno, Maeneth está de camino, a ver de qué es capaz la única princesa de Greenwood. Gracias, amiga, como siempre.

Ninde: gracias por tus gentiles palabras, me alegro mucho que el dialogo funcionara. Ahora, a ver qué pasa con Rinion, el principe helado que parece que sonríe… de vez en cuando claro.

Noph: thanks for that! Handir is doing his thing, yes - and now for Rinion.

Guest 1345: wow - thank you so much for that!

Guest: thank you!

Earthdragon: ah, your questions are prophetic, hence I cannot answer them! LOL You are going to find out about Lassiel and Aglareb right now - at least in part, albeit there will still be some unanswered questions.

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Chapter fifty-eight: Baudh Gwaith

"Have a care brother, this is their last opportunity, I do not think they will be kind."

Legolas laughed, "I am used to that, brother. It will not bother me."

Handir held his gaze for a while, knowing it was true for he had seen it in the Council, that cool, detached expression as others referred to him in less than endearing terms.

"Keep a cool head," continued Handir as they walked back to the Council Hall, behind the King and his small party of dignitaries. "Do not let them anger you for that is when the mistakes come. Stay calm, analyse, speak with strength and move, do not stay in one place for too long - and no fidgeting with your hands…"

"Alright," chuckled Legolas, for his brother was making him more nervous.

The Councillors stood as the king entered, and then waited for him to sit before they, too, took their chairs, their conversation slowly petering out.

"My Lords, my Ladies. It is time for petitioners to speak before the vote is taken. Who seeks the floor?"

"I do!" called Barathon from the public area as he strode forward and then stood inside the circle.

Bowing to the king and then to his father, he faced Legolas and began to speak.

"I do not agree with the creation of a Silvan Warlord, and I do not second Lord Legolas as the one to fulfil that role - and, I would like to tell you why. Legolas, son of Thranduil king and Lassiel of the Woodland Realm," he began with a flurry of his hand. "While his Sindarin blood is noble, his Silvan blood is not, indeed Lassiel was - _renowned_ \- for her proclivities, shall we say."

There were hushed whispers as the councillors chanced a fleeting glance at the king and then at Legolas.

"His upbringing will have been less than ideal and his nobility highly questionable," continued Barathon. "Add to this his age - seven hundred and forty-four - and the fact that he has been a warrior for less than two years. I have never, my Lords, never heard of such an unsuitable background for a position of responsibility.

But there is more, for you see I was present for the trial of Legolas, and I voted against their ruling to invest him as a lieutenant. I saw his performance, and there was nothing to merit that promotion."

Barathon flinched when Captain Turion entered the circle, confident and completely calm, yet there was something in the way he moved, in the way he strode forward to face him that seemed almost - aggressive.

"Lord Barathon. You speak lies," he said into Barathon's face, before he moved away and then continued to speak as he walked around the circle.

"A quick word about Barathon's claims - he says these lies for he himself was left humiliated, wide-eyed and mouth agape when Legolas bested him in a, shall we say, extremely brief spar," he paused, allowing himself a smirk at a now red-faced ex-commander.

"This warrior was once a Captain," began Turion, "until he shamed himself before the entire Inner Circle. I could go into detail of course, but I do not believe that necessary, indeed I would not have mentioned your _humiliation_ , had you not insulted the army I serve, the king I serve and the warrior I respect amongst most others. You have always shown your aversion to Legolas, 'tis nothing new and your motives are still a mystery to me for this hatred is surely more than jealousy.

However, should you decide not to disclose the root of your hatred, I will say simply that your opinion means nothing to me, for you do not have my respect, nor that of the Inner Circle," said Turion finally, his eyes lingering on Barathon before he turned and nodded his thanks to Sedren.

Barathon, alone once more inside the circle, scoffed. "My argument stands, he does not deserve the rank of lieutenant, just as he does not deserve to be the Silvan Warlord. I agree with my father, Lord Bandorion in this - his loyalty must be questioned. He will turn the Silvans against us until we have war!"

No one else seemed to be forthcoming, and so Barathon left the circle, nodding at Silor as he walked in the opposite direction.

"I am Silor, a warrior who was, until recently, aspiring to the rank of Lieutenant. I had the misfortune of serving with Lord Legolas on our journey to Imladris. All my hopes and dreams were dashed the day our paths crossed. And why? you may ask. Well I will tell you. I gave that warrior a direct order, and for my efforts I was thrown to the ground but that is not all," he added with a theatrical wave of his hand, "that elf - is not natural…"

There was a collective gasp and Legolas resisted the urge to close his eyes in dread. This elf had seen his eyes in spite of Ram en' Ondo's best efforts …

It was Mithrandir that promptly walked into the circle to face Silor, his staff clicking over the cool stone slowly, calculatingly.

"Not _natural_ , Silor?" he asked challengingly.

"There is a _demon_ inside him, I have seen it for his eyes fill with green light and shine so bright they can no longer be seen!"

"Silor, calm yourself, warrior," said Mithrandir in a tone that Legolas would never have expected from the generally good-natured wizard, for it was patronising and sardonic.

"Calm myself? _You_ did not see it, I _did_!"

"What you saw," said Mithrandir, raising his voice to cut off any further outburst, "is simply what happens to any listener when they are - _listening_ \- do not let your own absurd superstitions get the better of you, Silor, there is nothing unnatural about that."

"That was no ordinary pulse of light, Mithrandir, I tell you it is _frightening_ , nothing good can induce such negative emotions, and I am not the only one to have seen it! They saw it too," he said, pointing at those members of The Company that had been there at the time.

"Well, they obviously do not agree with you that he is not natural, they are his very good friends, as you may know. For my part I have said all that needs to be said on that point - you exaggerate a perfectly normal physical response," said the Wizard finally, and then left the circle.

"And what of his insubordination?" called Silor, holding his ground. "Is that now to be condoned?" asked Silor incredulously.

The heavy clank of boots over stone heralded the arrival of an elf, a heavy one - Ram en' Ondo.

"Silor - you may remember me. When you saw his eyes and called him "demon of Morgoth?"

There were giggles and snorts from some of the councillors and the audience beyond, but Ram en' Ondo pushed forwards.

"And then, in your _panic,_ you ran for him - what would you have done if I had not stepped in front of him? To protect him?"

"I would have hauled his backside to Lieutenant Galadan!"

"And that is what you did, isn't it? You physically dragged him across half the camp and then complained bitterly to your tutor lieutenant, completely ignoring the warning you were being given, and amidst the squabbling - we were _ambushed,_ " said Ram en' Ondo, his voice rising with every word he said. "Your prejudice, your disdain for the Silvan warriors was above even the safety of your _prince!_ " he shouted. We lost four warriors in that battle, and would have lost more had Legolas not fallen back to protect the injured. He was lost for _two days!_ Until Lord Elladan found him and brought him back, broken but _alive_. _Who_?" seethed Ram en Ondo, "is the demon of Morgoth?"

Silence stretched on as the council thought on Ram en's words, and as the mighty warrior left the circle, Lieutenant Galadan took his place.

"I second Ram en Ondo's account," said Galadan, waiting for the giggles to subside again, for 'Wall of Stone' was not a widespread name.

"I struggled to get that caravan back to safety, together with Lord Legolas and Galdithion - otherwise known as Rhawthir," he ventured, and laughter exploded, before quickly dying down as Sedren frowned. "I fought with him, pushed myself to exhaustion with him and believe me - there is nothing evil about him, there is nothing disloyal - Lieutenant Legolas showed his skill as a commander to me that day and I had no need to listen to the Inner Circle's judgement, for I already knew I fought beside the greatest warrior this land has ever seen."

Galadan's eyes lingered on Legolas for a moment, watching as the Silvan nodded solemnly at him, not in arrogance but in gratitude for his words.

Silor shot one, last irate glare at Legolas, before turning on his heel and leaving the circle.

Thranduil shot a questioning glance at Elladan, for he would not have heard the details of that ill-fated journey.

"Are there any others that would speak?" asked Sedren.

Everyone was sure that Bandorion would have one final attempt at persuading the Council, but to their shock, he remained seated and Handir's brow furrowed for it did not make sense. Surely he had not admitted defeat?

"It is time to vote. Please stand and state 'aye' or 'nay'.

Legolas took a deep breath as one by one, the Councillors stood and spoke, and with every 'aye' it became harder for him to hide his emotions, and when it was over and the count was seventeen in favour and three against, Sedren made the declaration.

"The Permanent Council has spoken. Greenwood the Great shall reinstate the figure of the Warlord, a role that is to be carried out by Lord Legolas Thranduilion, pending further negotiations with the Silvan Council. Let it be known!"

Suddenly, all eyes were upon him, he could feel them waiting for him to speak, only this time, for the first time, they did not look upon him in disdain but in respect.

He stood and moved into the circle, heart pumping furiously as his mind struggled to centre itself.

"I beg forgiveness, my Lords, for I am no statesman, like my brother," he began softly, timidly. "I am a humble elf, an illegitimate child, the son of a king and brother of princes. I am Silvan and I am Sindarin, and in my heart so too, am I Avarin," he said, his eyes now trained on the councillors around him.

"I do not seek to offend you, although I know that is the case nonetheless and I wonder, if we cannot work this out?" he paused here, for words were suddenly flowing, words he could not be sure would be appropriate - but they were all he had and so he said them anyway, his voice rising in volume as his heart took the reigns and stamped upon them all the emotions that now ran wild, unfiltered, unchecked.

"You see my blood is, indeed, _mixed,_ yet in this mixture is the essence of both a Silvan and Sindarin soul. I cannot be one without the other - what I am trying to say, my Lords, is that I cannot betray my people without betraying myself. Above all things, I am a warrior. 'Tis how I was born, with an image so clear in my mind, a goal I never once questioned," he explained, his voice gaining momentum and strength and the councillors around him sat forward, their eyes gleaming in anticipation and rising interest.

"I will strive to make this land great once more, if you will let me, that we be rid of evil, make safe our lands and our crops, return our sense of pride in what we once were, what we will be again. One nation of many colours, varied and exotic, _fascinating_ and just, where _everyone_ wishes to dwell for _here_ , they will say, live the Silvan Wood-elves, the Avarin mystics and the mighty Sindar!"

A clamorous roar of deeply felt pride and exhilaration resounded through the hall as everyone stood as one, and then moved forward to congratulate a stunned Legolas, who soon disappeared amongst the throng of elves.

Thranduil smiled, before turning to Mithrandir and then Glorfindel, and nodding slowly at them both, a silent thank you that the Maia and the Commander understood, and returned with a wise smile of their own.

The crowd, now larger and louder as they chattered excitedly, smiled and laughed in utter relief, it seemed, because it was finally over, the Greenwood had been given another chance for a better, more just society, one they all wanted, and thus, the circle tightened - a circle of hopeful fraternity, and for the first time in his life, Legolas felt that he belonged, that he was finally accepted, that he served a purpose, and never again would he let go of that feeling.

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"Why did you not _speak?_ spat Barathon angrily as he turned on his father. "All is lost and that _bastard_ has secured his claim!" he raged, unaware in his anger, that his father's mood had turned passing strange. Draugole, however, had not missed it and his face paled dramatically of a sudden.

"Calm yourself, Barathon. It was no longer the time. Our objections were clearly not seconded - there is no more we can do within the Permanent Council…"

"So we just sit back and let him _win?_ He who sent her away and with her, turned my father into the bitter, ruthless elf he is today?" raged the Sinda.

Draugole closed his eyes in dread, for this conversation was way overdue, he realised. It had gone undressed and had festered and now, Bandorion seemed lost.

"You will be _quiet!"_ roared Bandorion. "What do you know of my _heart_? What do you know of sacrifice?! You know _nothing_!" he shouted, turning to face his son.

"I know enough, have seen enough - suffered enough…."

"You do not know the _meaning_ of the word…" said Bandorion calmly now as he looked into his son's eyes, "to suffer, to really _suffer_ …" he trailed off and then stared into the distance, as if he remembered, as if he saw things from long ago and Barathon seemed to realise it was useless to continue.

"You yield and he has won…" said Barathon in defeat, his own anger slowly draining away and with it, came the sudden realisation that something was wrong with his father.

"No," came the soft answer. "I do not yield, for to do so implies I have something to lose - and I do not. It is all lost, has been since the day she left. Whatever I do now can take nothing from me save my life, and that - to me - is worthless…"

"Bandorion," said Draugole warningly, but he was pointedly ignored.

Barathon frowned deeply and turned to his father in askance. "What is it you are thinking, father?" he asked worriedly.

"He came back to haunt me," whispered Bandorion, "a ghost from the past, a reminder of my pain, my loss, my shame…. I must have peace, Barathon; I must fix the mistake I made, the mistake that took my glorious queen from my side…"

"Father…" there was a warning in Barathon's voice too now, warning and dread for there was no mistaking the meaning of his father's words and he turned his desperate face to Draugole, as if he could, perhaps, pull his father back from the precipice.

"Son - forgive me - forgive my selfish heart, for not making room for you, for it was so full of _her_ ," he whispered, his eyes bright and brimming with the pain of centuries of pent up grief - unrequited love.

"Don't?" came Barathon's soft, vulnerable voice, but Bandorion simply stared back at his son with a soft yet sad smile.

"I am already dead, Barathon…. "

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 _"Lassion!"_

The guards stood straighter, taller, wishing perhaps that the clamour of voices in the Council Hall would cease, for someone was shouting.

 _"Lassion!"_

They looked at each other, before one ran forward to find the king.

 _"Lassion!"_ came the booming voice, deep and angry, wrathful.

"What is that?" asked Thranduil as Mithrandir and Glorfindel came to join him.

 _"Lassion!_ " came the voice, louder now and the noise in the Council Hall subsided until it became nothing, all eyes facing the entrance as a guard rushed to the king, too late to warn him now.

 _"Lassion!"_

There were gasps and panicked faces as the imposing figure of Bandorion, brother of Oropher, stood in the doorway, two mighty spears in his hand.

Thranduil's eyes widened in shock at the sight of his uncle, for he had never seen him like this; wild and unleashed, the warrior he had once been yet his control had gone for his eyes were mad and his mind absent - only his heart spoke, it seemed, and Thranduil reached for the pommel of his sword.

 _"Lassion!_ Come to me!" he said from afar.

Those still standing around Legolas quickly moved back, all except The Company, who stood before him, shielding him as they watched, reaching for their weapons and slowly, menacingly, drawing them with a screech that promised bloody retribution should they touch Legolas.

Thranduil watched his enraged uncle, ready to call the guard but his eyes momentarily caught sight of a frantic Barathon and Draugole, the darker Sinda desperately clutching at Barathon's sleeve to stop him from rushing to his father's side.

"I demand _Baudh Gwaith_ ," he thundered and the councillors gasped in horror at his words. Baugh Gwaith - the people's judgement.

"No" answered the king, his face drawn back into a snarl. "You will not touch my son."

"You cannot refuse, 'tis Sindarin law between warriors. I demand he face me, that the Valar may decide who is just and right."

"I said no," repeated Thranduil but Bandorion was walking forwards. "Only _he_ ," gestured Bandorion towards Legolas with his spears, "can refuse and should he, I will stand down, but when he hears what I will tell him believe me, he will not…"

Thranduil's heart hammered in his chest, for Bandorion would surely bait his son until his pride and honour were roused and he would not stand down for although he did not know Legolas well, he knew what _Rinion_ would do… his head whipped to Legolas, standing together with the Company, desperately seeking his son's eyes, but the Silvan would not look at him, instead his own, strange green eyes bored challengingly into the mad, shaking face of Bandorion.

"Speak!" shouted Legolas, his voice powerful and commanding.

"Did you ever wonder? _bastard_? Wonder why your mother faded, even though she had a child?" asked Bandorion calmly as he slowly approached Legolas and the Company stiffened as their knuckles whitened upon their swords and knives.

Thranduil's blood rushed too quickly through his veins and his ears throbbed in time with his labouring heart - Bandorion was going to tell him, and there would be no going back…

"Did you not ask yourself why you were not enough to keep her here? Did you think perhaps that you had not been enough for her - did you feel hurt and _ashamed_?" asked Bandorion, a cruel smile spreading on his lips as the purposefully hurtful words spilled from his twisted lips.

"Stand down," murmured Legolas to the Company, but they did not move and so he turned to them, his eyes commanding. "Do as I say - stand down," he repeated calmly, and they did, reticently and slowly, they backed away but their hands did not move from the pommels of their swords.

"It will please you then, to know that she did not fade…."

There were hisses and gasps and even cries of shock but Bandorion had not finished.

"I know this, without the slightest shadow of a doubt…. because I _killed_ her…."

Screams and shouts of outrage erupted around them but Bandorion had eyes only for Legolas.

Thranduil stepped closer, slowly, his eyes wide and full of hurt and disbelief for although Amareth had already told him she had been murdered, the perpetrator had remained a mystery - until now. "Legolas. Do not listen to him, do not let him goad you - if you engage him this can only end in death…"

"I know," came Legolas' whispered words - and there it was, _emotion_ \- Legolas was no longer the cool, calm and deadly warrior he was renowned to be but a seething cauldron of rising ire; there was nothing more Thranduil could do except watch and hope that the rumours of his son's skill were true.

"Why?" snarled Legolas at Bandorion. "Why did you kill my mother?"

"Because - I thought I was killing _you_ , in her arms - it was you I sought to kill."

Legolas was slowly losing the battle and his eyes were wide with disbelief. "Why would you kill a babe…." he asked in disbelief.

"Why?" Bandorion broke into loud guffaws of bitter laughter. "Because you killed her heart, you stabbed her with your simple presence, as surely as if you had plunged a dagger into it. With you she began to fade and all I wanted was to destroy that which had destroyed her for you see - Aglareb," he could not finish for the queen's name on his lips made his voice hitch and his throat close.

"You _loved_ her…" said Legolas in shock.

"I loved _her_ , and she loved _him!_ " thundered Bandorion as he pointed his spear at the king and Glorfindel moved to stand before him, his face alight and terrifying, but the enraged Sinda was too far gone to care.

"But at least, I had her close to me, even though I knew I could never have her…but the threat of losing her, her pain which I felt as my own … I could not fathom…"

"You killed my _mother_ …" said Legolas flatly and Thranduil closed his eyes in dread.

"Yes, although it was you I sought - and yet here you are, enraged and before me, at my mercy for now I will avenge Aglareb, and when it is done I will have peace…"

Legolas' face hardened and Glorfindel saw it.

"Legolas. You do not have to do this, let the guards take him away…" he tried.

"No."

"My son," cried Thranduil as Rinion and Handir came to stand at his shoulder, both placing a calming hand on his shoulders, albeit their own faces was the very picture of shock and alarm.

"Baudh Gwaith you say? The People's justice?" asked Legolas. "I will tell you what it shall be, Bandorion - _kinslayer_ \- ," he hissed, "for there is indeed vengeance to be had, the vengeance of the Silvan people, vengeance I will deliver in their name…"

Bandorion snarled and smiled at the same time as he threw one of his long spears at Legolas. "I am told you have some skill with it. _Prove_ it!"

 _"Guards!"_ shouted Thranduil hoping to arrest Bandorion before they could engage but it was too late, for the whirl of wood through air rung in their ears and the mighty Sindarin spears where widening the circle of shocked elves who stumbled backwards as the dual began.

Legolas ripped the cloak from his back and right at that instant, Bandorion swiped forward and landed a heavy blow across Legolas' head, sending him reeling to the side.

Shouts of outrage did not deter him though, and neither could the guards, for a dual with spears was nigh impossible to break up.

Standing back up and wiping the trickle of blood away from his eyes, Legolas smiled and cocked his head to the side, before hoisting his spear aloft and beginning his deadly dance. Glorfindel watched from the side, mentally going through the moves he would execute were it him facing Bandorion, and then smiling in grim satisfaction when Legolas did just that. Squatting low, he held the spear parallel to his arm as the other stretched backwards, palm towards his enemy and Bandorion was momentarily confused. Pivoting upon his heel, Legolas swiped his spear in a wide arc, knocking the feet from under the Sinda who fell to the floor and rolled away defensively before taking up his stance once more.

Again he lunged forward and Legolas spun to the side, landing lightly off to the left before whirling towards his opponent and attacking.

From there, they began to fight in earnest, attack and parry, counter attack and counter move. Wood clashed violently with wood, fast and furious, powerful - every blow potentially fatal as the two elves spun around each other, widening the circle of onlookers as they fought, as if in battle. It was brutal and terrifying and yet mesmerising, hypnotic almost.

Glorfindel's eyes were wide as he chanted the moves he knew Legolas should make, and beside him, Thranduil stood rigid and disbelieving. Idhrenohtar looked ready to rush into the centre and slice Bandorion's head off, but Ram en' Ondo held him back.

The tip of one spear ripped through the cloth of a sleeve, drawing a bloody line before the elf danced to one side and landed a blow on his opponent, the spear glancing off his shoulder and ripping his tunic, and then a mighty thud was heard as wood impacted with hard muscle and a whoosh of air followed, but the killing blow did not come, for the elf was no longer where they should have been - Legolas had been faster and when he saw his opening, he seized it, countering a low strike and catapulting himself over Bandorion and then taking him from behind, his spear pressed over Bandorion's chest, his mouth close to his ear.

"She still left though, didn't she - _why?_ Why did she leave her own _children_ behind?" snarled Legolas as he breathed harshly, his own blood dripping onto Bandorion's shoulder.

A backward jab of his elbow caught Legolas in the wrong place and he stumbled back, winded once more.

"She left because she found out - that I had killed that bitch you call _mother_ …" he raged.

With a mighty cry of rage and frustration, Legolas charged forward and struck once, twice, thrice until Bandorion was reeling backwards, unable to stop the whirlwind of utter fury that pressed against him, until he tripped and fell, and the tip of Legolas' spear sat hovering over his heart, his beautiful, terrifying face looking down at him in utter rage.

"Do it - end it, kill this body for my heart and my soul have been dead for many years…"

"Father.." came the shaky voice of Barathon from amidst the horrified onlookers and Legolas' eyes snapped to Bandorion's son. He seemed so young, so vulnerable - a child who fears the loss of a father and not the arrogant, incompetent Captain that had made his life a misery …

"No," said Legolas.

"Do it! - kill me because if you do not - I will kill _you,_ here or in Valinor, I will seek you out and end your life…"

There was a presence at his shoulder then, strong and powerful and Legolas turned his head only minutely, enough to know it was the king - his father.

"This is Baudh Gwaith - there is no return…" he murmured.

"But his son…" came Legolas' soft voice.

"He lost his father many years ago, didn't you - Barathon?"

Barathon's eyes looked at the king, open and raw, while Legolas' returned to those of Bandorion upon the ground and his hand tightened around the wood of his spear.

"It is our way, Legolas. He knew what he did when he challenged you - give him peace now," murmured the king.

"I can't," he whispered. "He did this for _love_ \- he killed my mother for the _love_ of Aglareb. It drove him to madness and cruelty but it was for the sake of _love_ … I can't."

"But I _can_ ," whispered Thranduil as he placed both hands over Legolas' upon the spear.

"For _love_ ," he smiled as he thrust their hands down, until the sound of a breaking heart rent the air and Bandorion's final breath died in their ears.

Barathon's wail of defeat and grief snapped them out of their stupor, and Thranduil pulled the spear from his uncles body, feeling his son's hands grow limp as he let go.

The Company rushed forward as one, pulling Legolas away from the mess, as guards gathered around the king.

"Take this traitor to the Healing Halls and prepare him for immediate burial, and place Barathon under house arrest until further notice. And clean this," he gestured to the pool of blood that had collected under the now inert body of Bandorion.

"Oh, and bring that spear to me, when it has been cleaned," he said as a side thought.

Saluting, they went about their business and the king's eyes sought out Legolas, who stood quietly amidst his warrior friends, still struggling for breath.

"Legolas. Come - we have much to discuss," he said calmly but authoritatively, for he could not allow his child to escape him now. It was the moment to talk, so that his sons could finally understand why Thranduil had done what he had, he could not risk Legolas' anger and incomprehension, not after having achieved so much.

"Elladan, join us?" asked the king rhetorically as he turned then to Glorfindel. "You too, my friend, for he may need you - more than he does me at this moment."

Glorfindel stared into Thranduil's eyes with newly-found respect. He had not expected the king to do what he had, what he himself would have done. This king was strong, ruthless when the need arose for he had slain his own uncle, not only for vengeance, he wagered, but because Bandorion had not spoken in vain - Legolas would never be safe had he been left to live.

As they walked to the king's quarters, Glorfindel watched Legolas. His eyes were far away and he walked as one lost, for he paid no attention to his surroundings at all and he wondered for a moment, if that crack to the head had addled him.

Once inside the room, the door closed firmly, they all sat and breathed deeply as the silence stretched on. Handir and Rinion shared apprehensive looks, while Glorfindel watched as Elladan inspected his absent friend's rapidly bruising head.

Thranduil however, simply sat the wine decanter upon the table and poured a handsome glass, holding it out for Legolas to take.

"Drink, and listen," he commanded. Glorfindel was about to protest his tone but something told him not to, that perhaps he was right to ensure that his sons heard him out - after all, he had just found out his lover had been killed, and by his uncle no less, whom he had then killed in Baudh Gwaith.

"Elladan," called the king, "is he well enough to stay here?" asked the king, his eyes moving from the cut on his head to the slash on his upper arm.

"He is well enough," replied Elladan as he worked on Legolas' injuries.

"My sons - it is time to speak of that which has always hung around us like poison, pulling us apart for you did not understand, and I was too broken to even try and explain it - the time has come for you to know of the relationship I shared with Aglareb, your mother," he said as he turned to Rinion and Handir, "and Lassiel - your mother," he said as he turned to Legolas, who still stared off into space.

"I will tell you all I know but I warn you now, there is more that I do not know, for I believe Bandorion will have taken his own secrets to the grave with him. Are you prepared to listen? With open hearts and not judge me until I have finished?" asked Thranduil, his eyes lingering on Rinion for a moment longer than the rest.

"I would here it all," said Rinion, and Handir nodded his agreement. Legolas however, simply turned his head without meeting his father's eyes, and nodded.

"Very well. This, is the story of two, great women…"


	59. Circle of Love

Author's notes:

Work has had me enslaved, but hopefully things are now under control! Here we have the story of our two mothers, from the eyes of Thranduil.

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Guest 1345: yes, that pity is felt by all I think, but I do believe that is the way they would have dealt with the problem, from a historical and cultural perspective.

Guest: Wow - thanks! LOL

Ninde: elfo malvado fuera, efectivamente :))

Lara: me alegro haberte sorprendido :) Y gracias por tus palabras tan generosas!

Earthdragon: surprise, yes! Barathon has some decisions to make now, doesn't he? Hope you like the story of Aglareb and Lassiel :=)

Noph: yup, lots of stuff going on right now - time to reveal, I think :) Thank you, as always.

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Chapter fifty-nine: Circle of Love

 _This is the story of two great women…_

"I first admired her from afar, for in my youth I was fond of revelling in the forests with the Silvan people, much to the amusement of Oropher. My father was king and I a happy young prince," he smiled in remembrance, her lovely face floating before his mind's eye and wrenching from him a watery smile.

Thranduil's avid audience had finally settled, as much as it could after the morning's shocking events. Sipping on potent wine, Handir and Rinion sat shoulder to shoulder, physically closer than they had done in centuries, something that did not escape Thranduil's notice, and Legolas had focussed his eyes once more. The ragged cut on his arm had been cleaned and bandaged, albeit the bruise on the side of his head had reached an interesting shade of purple. Elladan and Glorfindel sat on either side of him and Thranduil found it strange that his Silvan son should be flanked by Noldorin lords.

Mithrandir, who had stayed behind to oversea the cleanup together with Aradan, had joined them a while later, standing now in one corner as he listened and watched the broken family from the sidelines, watched its leader extend his figurative hand in open invitation to belong once more, to close the circle that had once been so cruelly broken.

"It was her eyes - those enormous pools of river moss that sparkled and shone and told you everything she felt. So open, so giving, such a child of nature … I fell in love with her that night and in my excitement, I told my father I had met someone, for back then, there was nothing we could not speak of, nothing I would hide from my father…

Yet he was not pleased that she was not of noble descent and I cannot say I had not expected that. It was not because he did not approve, not because she was Silvan but because the Council would be hard-pressed to agree to such a union. I was disappointed but I did not give up hope for I loved my father and he loved me. Indeed, after much pleading on my part, he finally allowed it and I was _ecstatic_ ," he smiled, a small part of his remembered joy teasing his bruised spirit.

"Yet all that changed one day, and I could not understand how that had come about. He told me Lassiel had a reputation, and that I was not to see her any more. I tried to explain that this was nonsense, hearsay and gossip but he was adamant. It was one thing to overlook her family, but to allow his Crown Prince to court a woman of ill-repute was too much. This time, there was no changing his mind and so, knowing I would never court another for thus I told him in no uncertain words, he chose a bride for me, a political union between two of the highest born Sindarin families.

Our relationship was never the same after that, for although I was a loyal and dutiful heir, he hurt me too deeply - I could never really forgive him, even though I loved him fiercely," whispered Thranduil, his eyes momentarily glancing over at Glorfindel, who sat protectively next to Legolas.

"Aglareb was grace and elegance," he continued, "and even when I told her of Lassiel, she did not falter in the fulfilment of her father's wishes. She married me, knowing that I did not love her, that I loved another. She said it was her duty, that she would remain by my side and give me children and yet I learned, later, that it was not simply her desire to carry out her father's wishes - she loved me, so much that she gave up her own happiness in exchange for simply being close to me. Had I known, perhaps I would never have agreed to it at all, for I inadvertently ruined her life."

The king paused here, turning to the window for a moment and sipping his wine, and when he spoke again, it was as if he spoke to himself, ironing out the pieces of this convoluted puzzle.

"I wonder now, if Lassiel's ill-repute was a purposeful ploy to turn Oropher's mind from my wishes - one devised by Aglareb's own family, for if they knew of her devotion to me, her silent love of me, they would have sought to protect her…. just as I protected Lassiel…"

Seeming to suddenly snap out of his introspection he turned once more, and continued with the tale.

"Time passed by, and I would see Lassiel, when I could slip away for I did not wish to humiliate Aglareb with my infidelity. However she did find out and again, she said she cared not, for that was her lot. She could not leave me just as much as I could not leave Lassiel - it is why she understood my predicament so well.

Our children were born, and with every day away from me, the quieter and more withdrawn my Silvan lover became, until what I had feared for so long finally became evident on her face, in her body. She was withering away as she watched me live my life with another, father the children of another woman.

I could not allow it and so I devised a plan, one that would stop what seemed inevitable. We two, would conceive a child and she would travel to Valinor, anchor herself to that small part of me that she _could_ have. She fought me, for this was not reason enough to seek a child, she argued. But fear finally drove her to accept my desperate plan.

And so it was that our Silvan son was conceived, and preparations for her departure began while she withdrew to the deep forest, for no one could know of what we had agreed upon. Only Amareth and Erthoron had contact with her then…"

Legolas' eyes sharpened and he looked to his father in disbelief.

"Yes, yes she knew, as did the leaders of your village, Legolas. The fact is that one, terrible day, Aglareb came to me and told me she knew Lassiel had conceived my child. She was broken and defeated for she had tried her best all those years to do her duty, live with her unrequited love - all I had to do was respect her - and in that I failed.

I sent word to Amareth of what had happened, warning her to take care, for there was no way of knowing what danger my illegitimate child may be in for you see, Aglareb's family is a powerful one. Yet I received no word for weeks and was becoming concerned, until Amareth finally told me a child had been born and that Lassiel had left."

Legolas wore a deep scowl as he listened, as did Rinion, but Handir's face was blank as he listened, his eyes unfocussed, as if he were living the events his father was narrating.

"I had wanted at least to bid her farewell, greet my child but fear had driven the Silvans to take her away with all haste, not risk my involvement for there was obviously a traitor in our midst, for how else had Aglareb learned of the child? While his or her identity was not known, the danger was real.

"I was disappointed, but I understood and yet, what I thought would be Lassiel's saving grace, to stop her from fading away, turned against _me_ , for a heavy grief settled upon me at her departure and I could not help but yearn for her presence, and that of my son. And every day I would see Aglareb, quieter and greyer, stranger with every passing month, and still, I could not give her what she wanted, what she needed. I could not love her," he whispered, his heavy eyes straying to Rinion and Handir.

"She was fading, in spite of her children and yet I never thought, for one instant that she would leave. And yet, one morning, out of the blue, she told me.

I could not believe it, for what mother can leave her children behind?" asked the king, before answering himself.

"The answer of course, in hindsight, seems clear. Bandorion killed Lassiel before she could sail, and Aglareb must have found out. Her grief and suffering had been due to Lassiel in many ways, and especially because of the existence of a child, that and the fact that her love for me was not returned. Bandorion's reverence, his love for Aglareb drove him to seek retribution for her pain by killing the child," said Thranduil, thinking as he spoke, his voice becoming more and more agitated as the pieces seemed to fall perfectly into place. "That it is why she sailed, I believe, not only for unrequited love, my inability to lover her, but the guilt of having unleashed Bandorion's madness, inadvertently driving him to kill what _I_ most loved….and she _did_ love me, she would never have wished to hurt me as Bandorion had."

"Wait," came Rinion's voice, making them all jump for they had been so engrossed in the tale.

"There is more to it than that, I am sure - I was old enough to understand a little of what transpired in those days," began Rinion as he stood. "I saw my mother and my father consumed by grief, I saw Bandorion seethe at my father for the pain he caused the queen and although still young, I sometimes wondered at his fierce protection of her, and his growing hatred towards my father. I thought perhaps, that Bandorion had delusions of kingship, with our mother as his queen sitting beside him.

And then one day something snapped and where before my mother would look to Bandorion for support, with the eyes of a trusted friend, of a sudden those eyes became distrustful and - _fearful_ … whether that was because she had learned of his madness I could not say at the time.

When she finally sailed and I was left utterly confused and hurt that she would leave us, alone with an uncle I no longer trusted, I pleaded with you to send Maeneth away for you see father," said Rinion, his eyes suddenly sparkling with pent up ire … I did not like the way he looked at her at all…"

There was stunned silence at Rinion's words and Thranduil's nostrils flared and his eyes sharpened dangerously, while Handir abruptly turned his face to the window in sudden understanding.

"I am glad you had the courage that failed me, father," said Legolas, "yet had I known what I do now, I would never have hesitated."

"I do not doubt your courage, Legolas," smiled Thranduil sadly. "You stayed your hand for Barathon, because for one brief moment, you saw yourself reflected in his eyes, didn't you? You understood his pain better than any of us…" he trailed off knowingly, and Legolas could only return his gaze, open and frank for it was true.

"I have spent so long hating my mother, for what she did," said Rinion, drawing the attention away from Legolas, "for abandoning her children because she was too selfish to endure, for the sake of them - for Maeneth who was not even of age. I could not understand it and I hated her and when she left and there was no one to hate, I turned to my father - and hated him instead," he said sorrowfully as he faced Thranduil, the light of understanding in his still young eyes.

"Yet now, I begin to understand. Her love for you, the humiliation of an illegitimate child, and then - Bandorion and her own guilt at what he had done, her fear of him. Perhaps he threatened her, should she tell the king of his misdeed…" he mused.

No one answered him for that remained a mystery, one Bandorion had taken with him into the void.

"I am sorry - for what it is worth," said Legolas as he looked at Rinion and Handir."

Rinion stepped forward. "As am I - it was never your fault…" he said simply, and Thranduil's eyebrow twitched in surprise, wondering perhaps if Rinion would close the space between him and his younger brother, but he did not.

"Well," sighed the king. "That is the sum of it, as much as I know. I hope - I have not pushed us all further apart, now that you know…"

"No," said Rinion confidently. "You should have done that many years ago, father."

"Perhaps, yet I am not perfect, Rinion, this you already know," he smiled ruefully, yet the underlying relief was clear to them all. "I could not bring myself to admit to such things for our relationship was already so strained. I thought it would sentence us as a family, that I would lose the only thing left to me - my children."

"For my part, father, I respect your courage," said Handir. "You have spoken openly and I am grateful for that. I understand most of it, I believe," he said, although there was a frown on his face and insecurity in his voice.

Thranduil turned to Legolas then, his eyes pleading an answer from his youngest son.

"I do not know what to feel. I am still putting the pieces together, dealing with the fact that my mother was killed…that my own people kept me in the dark for so many years…"

"You have unfinished business, Legolas, and I understand that. I ask only that you see me as the father I always wanted to be for you, but never could be - I am not the monster you must have imagined in your youth…"

"No - you are not," he answered softly, for he had, indeed, imagined his father as a monster. "I just need time to assimilate it all… something I do not seem to be able to find…." he trailed off.

"Father," said Handir. "Forgive me but it is time, we must inform the Silvans of our decision."

"I would accompany Handir to the Silvan camp, stay there for a few days. I have things to discuss, questions to ask," said Legolas.

"Alright. Handir, Legolas, Elladan go and prepare yourselves. I will see you in the Throne Room in half an hour. Mithrandir?" asked the king.

"I must accompany our young Warlord here, for there is a certain Silvan Spirit Herder I must meet."

A knock on the door interrupted them, and Aradan joined them with a respectful bow. "My King, this is the article you asked me to retrieve?" asked the Councillor rhetorically.

"Thank you, Aradan," said the king, turning then to Legolas with a curious look on his face.

"I have never seen anyone fight with spears as well as my father - until today. I think he would be proud for you to have this," he said solemnly, holding out the mighty spear Legolas had used to kill Bandorion. "It is a unique weapon, one Oropher king was famous for - I gift it to you now, my son, in return for your promise to become a Master, when time permits."

Legolas held out both hands and gently took the spear of Doriath, his eyes not quite knowing where to settle first. "It is magnificent…" he whispered, and Dorhinen came to his mind's eye. The Sinda had told Legolas it lay in the vaults beneath the fortress, waiting to be claimed, when in fact, Bandorion had had it in his power all this time.

"Thank you," he smiled weakly. "I will try to be worthy of it." Yet while it was true, he had misgivings about using the weapon; he still did not understand Oropher's behavious, and then he had just helped to kill his great uncle with it - Oropher's own brother. Could he ever be worthy of it, he wondered sadly, would it one day cease to remind him of how he had come about it?

Thranduil nodded hesitantly, as if he had read his son's thoughts, and then turned to them all. "Come, we have work to do. Glorfindel," he added as an afterthought, "I would appreciate your company this night, if you would lend it?"

Glorfindel's eyes rested first on Legolas, and then on Elladan, who nodded subtly at his commander. "Of course," said Glorfindel, knowing the Silvan would be well-accompanied.

Yet Thranduil seemed to sense his hesitancy, and if, indeed, he had, he said nothing, turning once more to the window and listening distantly as they left, until silence settled around him and his lungs heaved a mighty breath that escaped him in a rush of pure relief.

It was done, there were no more secrets and the truth had not been as toxic as he had thought. Could it be, he wondered, that this would finally begin to seal the breech that so many around him had helped to open between the king and his children? Was it possible, he thought, in growing optimism, that he could finally rule this land in joy?

No more shame, no more hiding the truth. Aglareb, Lassiel, names upon his tongue that would no longer be pushed back into the darker recesses of his mind, names that would once more shine for the love they were professed, just as these two women had done upon Arda, before the twisted desires ofothers sent one to Mandos, and the other to Valinor.

'We will meet again, my ladies, when all is done and I am no longer king.

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A little later, Legolas sat together with The Company in his rooms. Looking like a respectable lieutenant once more, save for his bruised head. His eyes travelled over each and every one of his brothers; Idhrenohtar, Ram en' Ondo, Rafnohtar, Lindohtar, Rhrawthir, Glamohtar, Koron en Naur.. they all watched him in return, waiting for him to speak for they knew he would.

"Well then," he began a little uncertainly. "It has been an - eventful few days, my friends…"

They smiled but they did not speak and so Legolas continued.

"I must share with you now, what I believe should be the way forward," he said as he stood. "We go, together with Handir and Mithrandir, to the Silvan camp and give them the news they await. Then, I believe we should stay there for a few days - there are many I would speak with, questions I must ask - issues to be addressed for in all truth I have little idea of what my people expect of me. Once that is done, I will speak to whoever is to be my Captain and I wonder," he paused, watching them all as he spoke, "if I can request your presence in our patrol, that perhaps I can explain the nature of our future work together for The Company must always ride with the Silvan Warlord - that is what I will tell him. Perhaps he will allow that…"

"Yes, that is what we all want," said Idhreno with wide eyes that glanced over them all. "We have been parted for too long and if we are to do Yavanna's bidding with you as our commander, we must learn, you must learn, before we can do that alone."

"Yes," smiled Legolas, "that is it. However, I will ask for a leave of absence for a short while, for I need to return to the forest, discover who my mother was, understand things that yet plague my mind…"

"Alone? No," said Rafnohtar flatly, watching as the rest nodded their agreement with his sparing words.

"You may accompany me as far as Lland Galadh - but I must enter the deep forest alone…"

"Alright, said Koron en Naur. I believe we can live with that - what say you, brothers?" he asked them all.

"We say 'aye'," said Idhrenohtar for the rest of them. "I just hope our future Captain will be understanding…"

"So we are decided, no more partings, if we can help it," said Legolas. "We are one, you and I. Let us make this Company the bravest, fiercest, closest band of warriors the Greenwood has ever seen. Let us show the rest, be they Silvan, Sindarin or Avarin, what warriors of the forest can be, when given the chance. Let us rewrite the books and the protocols, the training and the fighting, bring back the honour and respect of the true warrior."

There was silence, and there were moist eyes and swelling hearts for in those few words, Legolas had marked the way forward, had begun what would forever become the code of conduct for The Company, their reason for being, their life's work would now begin.

"Come," said Legolas as he slipped on his quiver and buckled it across his armoured chest, checking his twin knives were within hand's reach should he need them. With a sideways glance at the mighty spear of Doriath, he suddenly realised he had no idea how to carry it.

Koron en' Naur smiled. "Oropher used to cross it over his back - just make sure the tip points upwards," he snickered, much to everyone's amusement, wondering what it was that must have happened to Oropher to make the mercurial Sinda chuckle.

"Are we ready, brothers?" asked Legolas, adjusting the weapon on his back for the first time.

"Aye," they called as one, and then followed the Silvan Warlord from the room and into the fortress proper, under the incredulous stares and respectful bows of those they passed, and if Legolas had had any doubt as to the repercussions of Bandorion's death, now, there were none.

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Below, Thranduil had taken the time to compose himself. He had never shared a healthy relationship with Bandorion, and he didn't think Oropher had either. There had been jealousy, he was sure, for his brother's kingship, and the woman he had later chosen for his son to marry, jealousy that slowly turned into obsession, and then from obsession to crime - and madness.

A sense of closure, of understanding brought with it a serene peace that the king had not felt in many years. He would not mourn the passing of his uncle, albeit he regretted having taken his life - however inevitable he knew it had been.

Hope had wedged itself stubbornly in his awakening heart for his three sons seemed to be moving ever closer to him as the truth of their family was slowly revealed. He wondered then, if it was time to call for Maeneth - wondered if she would ever forgive him for sending her away. Would he even recognise her now? After so many years in Lothlorien? By now, she would have spent the same time there as she had in her homeland…

He was distracted from his thoughts by the din that had slowly been mounting as the Throne Room filled out; after the events that had led to Lord Bandorion's death, alarm had spread throughout the fortress and the people had flocked to the king, in search of answers and reassurance that all was well. Indeed he knew too well that gossip would have spread like wildfire - they would be anxious to test the truth of what they had heard.

Talking quietly now with Glorfindel, Celegon and Captain Dunorel approached them, while Rinion and Handir spoke on their own, one of Rinion's hands resting on his brother's shoulder.

"Lord Legolas, Lord Mithrandir," called the herald from the door, and Thranduil turned to meet them.

Glorfindel's eyes widened fractionally as they fell on Legolas, striding amidst the warriors of his Company, and Elladan, his own lord's son. He looked calm and composed, no longer shocked and sorrowful as he had earlier. He had worked it out, realised Glorfindel, he had understood and accepted and if he was at all good at judging characters, he would say Legolas had found his peace. He would always remember, though, the day he had helped to take an elven life, for that was not lightly forgotten, indeed Glorfindel knew he never would.

Bowing, Hwindohtar and the Company awaited the king's words, standing amidst the utter silence of the court.

"Lord Legolas. I send you now, to the Silvan people, together with Prince Handir and Mithrandir. You have requested five days which have been granted. On the sixth, you must meet with your new Captain, Dunorel," he said with a wave of his hand.

Legolas' eyes slipped to Dunorel who was watching him closely. Legolas nodded respectfully, before turning back to the king.

"In five days' time, this land will celebrate the coming of a new Lord, the union of our people, an alliance renewed, together against the darkness that rises once more. Go, and make me proud," he said to Legolas, "and return to me the Warlord of your people."

Legolas' eyes had grown wide at his father's words, yet he could not help the twitch of his lips and the joy in his eyes from showing.

"Thank you, my King," replied Legolas before bowing, and then allowing Handir and Mithrandir to lead the way, out of the throne room, out of the fortress and its gates, under the appreciative gaze of all those who looked on.

There were no more veiled insults, no more smirks and rude comments. The bastard had gone, the child of a Silvan nobody had slowly dissipated and then reappeared as a lord of his people, Warlord of the Silvan people, son of Thranduil - nay, no more insults, only growing admiration, and respect.


	60. Eternal Goodbye

Author's notes:

OK, yes, the last chapter is more of a summary of what happened and many of you had already guessed the basics, with a few exceptions about Aglareb's decision to sail, or Oropher's change of mind. For Legolas though, there are many things he did not know. That his mother was killed, that his village always knew who he was - he will have a few things to say about that.

There may be three chapters or so left of the story, unless I get carried away and fly off on a tangent :)) Just so you know. For now, I wanted to publish this chapter as soon as possible, before starting with the end….

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Chapter Sixty: Eternal Goodbye

The guards at the main gates stood to attention and turned aside as the mighty, towering doors ground into action, and soon, Handir and Mithrandir, followed by the Company, strode into the Silvan camp. Before them, already waiting like stone statues amidst the ground fog, were Erthoron, Lorthil, Golloron and Narosen, and a little way behind, Amareth, who stood cloaked and quiet, her eyes cast to the ground.

Beyond the main tent, the rest of the Silvan people stood quietly in the early evening gloom, watching them, their every move, their sparkling eyes dancing over their clothing, their faces, their weapons and the elf that stood at the centre, partially obscured from sight. Finally, they looked at the scroll that Prince Handir held in his manicured hands.

The few noises there were, were muffled by the dampness and though it was late Spring, it seemed almost like a chill winter morning.

"Lords Erthoron and Lorthil," came Handir's powerful voice. "I am charged by my father King Thranduil of Greenwood the Great, to present to you, the rulings of the Permanent Council, in accordance with the petitions made by the Silvan Council, regarding the reinstatement of the Silvan Warlord."

Erthoron's face was solemn as he stepped forward, Lorthil at one side, and Narosén at the other.

Holding out his hand, Erthoron held Handir's blue eyes with his own, thinking perhaps to read the contents of the scroll behind them, but Handir let nothing slip, he simply held it out and watched as the Silvan leader took it softly and then nodded.

Breaking the seal of the House of Oropher with a soft crunch that seemed to echo loudly around them, he slowly unraveled the parchment and read.

Erthoron's forehead smoothed out and Lorthil's eyes sparkled, while Narosen's eyes glistened strangely and as one, the three Silvans' eyes shot back to Prince Handir, yet the prince no longer wore his mask of state, but a brilliant, joyful smile that shocked them all. They looked to Mithrandir of a sudden, as if to confirm what they had just read, and finding it, before swivelling on their heels and facing their people.

"He says 'aye'!" shouted Erthoron.

The greatest cheer Handir had ever heard roared around the camp as weapons, brushes, vegetables and even cooking utensils flew into the air, and from afar, from the confines of the king's fortress, Thranduil looked at Glorfindel with unshed tears in his eyes.

"It is done, the past becomes the present, Lassiel rests peacefully upon Mandos' loving breast and Aglareb is perhaps healed in Valinor. I will see them both one day, and I will tell them this story, one that will pass into the annals of our collective history, the story of The Silvan…

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Legolas sat cross-legged upon the carpet inside the leaders' tent, wine and fruit laid before him, while Mithrandir stood leaning against his staff, shrewd eyes moving from Erthoron to Lorthil and then Golloron, only to finally linger on the very strange Narosén.

For the moment though, it was only Legolas and Amareth that spoke quietly, while the village leaders and Spirit Herders watched respectfully in fascination, for the young child that had left them not two cycles past, had changed so much. He no longer wore the greens and browns of the Silvan troop but the shining uniform of a Lieutenant, all leather and silk and armour, yet more than this it was his hair - his long, long hair that had grown at least three palms - it was not possible, not natural.

As Amareth spoke and the others watched, she tried and failed to hold her son's gaze, and her hand would stray to touch his knee or his hand, but her touch was never reciprocated.

"Legolas - I…"

"Do not, Amareth. I have heard the story as the king knows it - I know there are still many things I do not understand and that I will remedy soon, I hope. Yet there is one thing I do know," he said, and now, his eyes travelled over all those in the tent, save for Mithrandir.

"I know that I grew in ignorance, while all of you knew - all along - through the taunts and the bullying, the nightmares and the pain of rejection. For now, I cannot understand why you never reassured me at least, that my father was not a bad elf, that he had not committed some terrible crime, that I was not the son of an exile. With this, one thing, I would have grown content…" he sighed, before continuing, his tone a little softer this time. "I am not angry, my friends; I just need time to think, and to ask questions, to _understand._ Let me do this, Amareth, and then if I can, I will return to Lland Galadh, and perhaps we shall have pea soup once more," he smiled.

"All I ever did, Legolas, was for you - for Lassiel and for you. Whatever you find, know this," she said as she slowly stood, tears trapped behind her honey-coloured eyes. He had upset her and Mithrandir wondered if he was not being selfish with the poor woman. Her love for him was clear, could he not just hold to that? But he did not seem able. He did stand and smile at her, though, somewhat wanly.

"I do not doubt that, Amareth, I doubt only the wisdom of the decisions you made. I cannot help that, not until I fill the gaps that are missing. Have patience, give me the time I need."

"I just need to know that…"

"Don't" said Legolas, raising his voice now, an edge to it that had not been there before. "You have no idea, I wager; no idea how much it hurt to find out who my father was, that I had two brothers and one sister, that all around me, people would stare at me because they recognised me when I was ignorant of who it was I resembled so much. I could go on but I will not for I think you understand only too well. I am not the same child that left you two years ago. I am utterly changed…"

Amareth stared wide-eyed at him, at his beautiful, shining face, his strange hair and his strong body. He was, indeed, changed and she closed her eyes in misery, before nodding her understanding.

"I will leave you then," she said somewhat shakily. "You have much to talk of," she said, nodding and then turning to leave, but Legolas' hand shot out and caught her arm.

"Just, give me time," he said, his eyes urging her to see the sincerity in his words.

She simply nodded once more, and moved to leave but Legolas pulled her back. "You should stay, there is something you must hear."

"It can wait," she said timidly, and then left.

"She has suffered much, Legolas," said Erthoron, but Legolas cut him off.

"So have I," he said and the Silvan leader startled for a moment. "Forgive me, then" he said, clearly surprised at Legolas' tone of voice.

"I will say the same to you as I did to Amareth. I am not the same elf that you used to know and believe me, I have many, many questions to ask you, and only four days in which to do so."

"And we have questions for you, Legolas, perhaps just as many," said Lorthil.

"I doubt that," muttered Legolas. Although he had arrived in the camp with a clear mind, now, however, his frustrations were getting the better of him, and his way of dealing with that, was to be, perhaps, overly curt.

Turning to Narosén who stood in the shadows, he spoke and in his tone was a hint of accusation.

"How did you know?" asked Legolas simply, and Mithrandir suddenly stood taller.

"I did _not_ know," came Narosén's answer, his heavy Silvan accent colouring his Sindarin. "I suspected. I am a Spirit Herder, a Listener, surely you are not surprised?" he asked slowly, enigmatically.

"You could have said something…" said Legolas somewhat tartly.

"Yes, I could have - and you would have laughed at me - Legolas," he said, "you were still terrified of _yourself_ , of your own nascent ability; had I told you you were anything more than a Listener, you would not have - _listened_ ," he said, cocking his head to one side.

"The trees told you?" asked Legolas.

"They whispered and they gossiped, but it was later, one night in the forest, there was a disturbance, both I and Golloron felt it. A pulse of energy so strong it was painful. We knew it was something important, an awakening of sorts, _yours_ , we believe."

"So you do not know exactly what happened?" asked Mithrandir.

"No. Will you tell us?" asked Narosén, his eyes alight as Golloron stepped forward together with the village leaders.

Legolas simply nodded at Mithrandir and the wizard stepped forward, watching as the candle light reflected off Narosen's eyes, and then bounced back at him, as if he were a cat.

"Legolas - is not a listener, Narosén, in that you were right. He is a _Protege…_ "

Narosén pulled back, as if he had been struck, and then his head whipped around to face Legolas, who looked back at him cooly.

"Yavanna! It is Yavanna who has sent you to us," he smiled, as he walked up to Legolas, and kissed him upon the forehead. "Blessed child."

"Well," gasped Erthoron as he raked his hand through his chestnut locks and Lorthil simply stood agape.

"You were right, Narosén, and I was wise to listen," said Erthoron.

"What do you mean?" asked Legolas, turning to his village leader, the one he had known as an uncle all of his short life.

"Narosén first suggested it, that we strive to regain our Warlord, but he did so with _you_ in mind - always. Tell us, Spirit Herder, would you still have suggested it, had you not met Legolas?" asked Erthoron rhetorically.

Narosén smiled. "No - never."

Legolas let out a mighty breath that puffed out his cheeks and Mithrandir smiled endearingly at him.

"The wheels of destiny and fate have been conspiring, Legolas, and you have been the centre of it all your life," he said, watching the Silvan carefully. "How does that make you feel?" asked the wizard.

Legolas stared at Mithrandir, the silence stretching on and he truly seemed at a loss for words.

"I dare not answer you now, my friend, for you may not like what you hear. Suffice it to say it is enough for today. I have had enough - truly."

Mithrandir's eyes softened and he turned to the Silvans. "You have heard of the events earlier today?" he asked.

"No," scowled Lorthil - but before they could continue, Amareth ran into the tent, her face shocked, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Is it true?" she shouted. "Tell me! Is it _true!_ " she shouted again, her control on the brink of shattering.

"Amareth," said Legolas, turning to face her. "What is it?"

"Is it _true?_ " she asked a little more calmly, "that he is dead? That _Bandorion,_ " she spat, "is dead?"

Legolas stiffened and then answered, as calmly as he was able. "Yes, it is true - and I killed him."

Amareth stared dumbly at her son until her eyes filled with tears that began to fall down her cheeks and she sunk to the floor upon her knees. Legolas knelt slowly, one hand reaching out to lift her chin and look at her, a silent question on his face.

One, shaking hand reached out and cupped his cheek, and the love in her eyes could not be denied.

"Thank you - thank the Valar that - _Demon_ \- is gone… you are finally safe."

"What?" asked Legolas, utterly perplexed.

"He killed your mother, Legolas. He killed Lassiel."

The others looked on as Legolas worked out the puzzle in his head. " _I_ found that out this morning - but how did _you_ know?" came the inevitable question from Legolas, one Mithrandir rather thought the boy already knew the answer to.

"Because I was there, and so were _you_ …"

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He walked and he walked and no one dared to stop him, and soon he was alone, inside the forest for the first time in what seemed like an age to Legolas. His relief was almost instant and he sat against the trunk of a towering oak, closing his eyes and calming himself.

He had ran away, like a petulant child. They had called him back but he had torn away from them and left, for his mind was going to explode into a thousand pieces. He could take no more and the only way to avoid losing his composure, had been to leave.

Drawing his knees up to his chest, he rested his elbows on his knees and tilted his head back against the bark, feeling the tingle of the trees' life force.

He had discovered his mother had been murdered, by his uncle, who he had then killed before the horrified face of Barathon. He had found out everyone around him, everyone that had mattered to him in his childhood, had known who he was. Narosén had been the one to put forward the reinstatement of the Warlord only because he had met Legolas, quite by chance, and now this - Amareth had witnessed Lassiel's death, with himself as a babe in her arms. She had known all along who it had been and by her reaction - she seemed to have been terrified of him - had he threatened her, he wondered? Just like he had threatened Aglareb? And if so, what had he used as leverage?

"Yavanna - what more?" he pleaded softly to himself, but she did not answer.

'Peace, calm…'

The trees.

'Sleep, dream.'

'Sleep?' he asked himself. Oh but to forget for a few short minutes, to free his mind of its furious twisting and turning, block it all out and just feel the forest…

'Do it…'

He wanted to rip the uniform from his back, shed his boots and run free…

'Come…'

Slowly, his hands reached up to his braids and one by one, he pulled them out until his mass of pale hair tumbled down to his hips. Leaving his quiver and knives on the floor, he covered them with his cloak and then unclasped his breast plate. Then came his shirt and finally his boots and a soft, fresh breeze hit his bare chest and the damp earth beneath his feet seemed to hum, sending a subtle vibration up his spine and to the very tips of his toes and fingers.

He felt free, wild, ancient and so very, very alive. He threw his head back and began to run, shaking his hair behind him and revelling in the feel of it as it streamed out behind him in the night.

Where he went to he did not know, it did not matter, and of a sudden he laughed as he ran, a surge of joy crashing over him with such strength it made him cry.

'Run, run, fly _free_ …'

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"Lord Erthoron?" called Glorfindel, sticking his head around the flap lest it not be a good time to disturb the leaders.

"He is not here," came the heavily accented voice of Narosén, who sat in the dark.

"I am searching for Legolas, he said. Have you seen him?"

"No," came the Spirit Herder's reply as he stood and approached. "He left - he was, _troubled_."

"Of course he was," mumbled Glorfindel. "Who are you?" he asked quietly, for the elf was passing strange.

"I am Narosén, Spirit Herder of the Silvan people."

Glorfindel started for a moment, for he had heard of this elf.

"And you are…?"

"Glorfindel," he said simply.

"The reborn?" asked Narosén.

"Yes. Narosén, I must find Legolas."

"I will accompany you…"

"No, don't."

"You won't find him, Glorfindel of Gondolin. I can…"

The Noldo looked into the strange, reflective eyes and simply nodded, allowing the Silvan to lead him into the forest. This elf must be a listener, he realised, for he was not tracking as a scout would do, he simply jogged this way and that, his decorated braids flying around his head.

"Is he far?" asked Glorfindel from behind.

"Yes. Far. It will take us a while to reach him, but he runs no more…"

Glorfindel's eyebrows rose in surprise at the surety in his voice, but he was not going to doubt Narosén's words and so he ran behind the Silvan, until the midnight hour was upon them and the Spirit Herder slowed to a walk.

"He is there," he pointed up into the mighty bows of a beech tree but Glorfindel saw nothing, and so the two elves simply sat beneath the tree and waited for Legolas to acknowledge them.

Closer to the stars, Legolas lay over a thick branch, one knee bent and the other straight, his bare feet caressing the rough bark and revelling in the comfort the contact brought him. He knew they had come for him but for now, they would have to wait, for his mind had not finished ordering itself, ironing out his own, tempestuous feelings and emotions for until it had, he would not return.

The heart-wrenching story of his own mother, of her plight ran in circles in his head. Until now, she had been an anonymous player in his life, yet now, his father had brought her to life and the irresistible urge to know her had invaded his very spirit. And then Bandorion's twisted face came to him - he had killed him just as surely as his father had, Oropher's brother, the elf Legolas looked so much like. He closed his eyes as a wave of pity and sadness hit him with force and his eyes welled with tears. He remembered then, the desperation in Barathon's eyes as his own spear stood poised over his father's cruel heart. He had not wanted to do it, and yet now, with all that had been disclosed, he imagined himself plunging that spear into Bandorion's chest again, and again, and again…

Lassiel, child of the forest, whose only sin was to have loved one she should not have, to have courted danger with the most powerful of Sindarin families, to have conceived a child that mayhap she should not have - all for the love of the Woodland King…

'I will find you, mother…' he murmured to himself, for although he was still confused, this much he vowed.

Hours idled by and Legolas still thought, slower now for his eyes were half lidded, and his own thoughts became intertwined with his waking dreams.

The palest, purest skin he had ever seen, luminescent like no other, framed by a crown of auburn hair looked down upon him in unconditional love, with utter devotion, a crushing kind of protection, determination. Her slanted green eyes danced and glistened in pride, until a teardrop full of love fell onto him, infusing him with her soul, joining them eternally in a way he could not fathom. Her curved, red lips subtly stretched into a smile, but it was not a joyous one, it was the sad smile of an eternal goodbye…

His head jerked up from where it had sunk onto his own chest, his own, green eyes wide and watery as his mind came to the inevitable conclusion and a trembling smile split his face but his brow was furrowed. Joy, painful sadness, disbelief, crushing pity, curiosity …. for he had just seen the face of his mother.

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The sun had still not awoken, but it was slowly lightening the horizon and Legolas scurried further down the beech until he lay upon his belly over the lowest-hanging branch. He felt drowsy and sated and was not yet ready for whatever the day had in store for him.

His loose hair fell almost to the ground but he did not move, for he was too busy observing the sight that had met him upon his descent.

Glorfindel lay asleep on his side, Narosén's cloak draped over him, and the Spirit Herder sat cross-legged, his eyes closed but he was not asleep, Legolas knew.

"Good morning, my Lord," he said quietly, eyes still closed.

"You can be unnerving, Narosén," he murmured.

"As can you, Warlord," he returned, opening his bright blue eyes and resting them on Legolas' green ones. He seemed to startle for a moment, before regaining his composure, and Legolas frowned at him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Your eyes are bright," he said matter-of-factly and Legolas stiffened. "How bright?" he asked warily, wondering if it was happening again…

"Just, a little brighter than is usual - 'tis lovely though."

Legolas let out a relieved breath, and then turned his eyes to Glorfiindel, who was beginning to stir.

"The mighty Lord of Gondolin, Slayer of Balrogs … smiled Legolas as would a young Silvan child and Narosén's eyes unexpectedly filled with tears he did not try to conceal.

"What is it?" asked Legolas, concerned.

"Nothing - just - joy - that you have found peace. You deserve that, and more," he said quietly, occupying this hands by rummaging in his bag.

Legolas stared at him, for this was a side to the enigmatic Narosen he had never seen - that compassionate, sensitive side that did not seem to go with his eccentric appearance or his strange voice. He decided then, that he liked the Spirit Herder, that in this, strange, Silvan mystic, he had an ally, a trusted advisor.

"Narosén," came the weak, somewhat sickly voice of Glorfindel. "Damn that Silvan poison you call a tonic….. he spat as he sat up and then groaned, taking a hand to his dishevelled hair, messing it up even more than it already had been.

Legolas opened his mouth and chuckled wildly, before looking disbelievingly at Narosén. "You did not warn him then?" he asked, and Narosén's eyes sparkled with mischief.

"I could not resist," he smirked.

Glorfindel looked at him in something akin to horror and betrayal, as Legolas sat up, swinging his legs over the branch and launching himself to the floor with a soft thud and Narosén could not resist staring at his hair in wonder.

"How did you get it so long?" he asked as he inspected it.

"Courtesy of my Lady, Narosén. But tell me for I am curious as to why I find an ancient warrior and a Spirit Herder sitting under my tree …"

"Do not look at me, young Lord," smiled Narosén. I simply accompanied him," he pointed at Glorfindel.

Legolas turned questioningly to his friend. "Did I worry you?" he asked.

"Not me - your father. He asked me to find you, and I willingly accepted.

Legolas held his gaze as he walked. "My father…"

"He loves you, Legolas, more than even he is willing to admit or show - perhaps because he does not wish to upset his sons - but his desire to know you, is deep and undeniable."

Legolas looked to the ground and then away, unsure it seemed, of what to say to that.

"You are upset," said Glorfindel simply, watching as Narosén prepared tea.

"Legolas," began Glorfindel with a deep sigh. "Talk to me, for your confusion is almost tangible. Talk and iron it out with me, for once we are back in camp you will not be able and it will fester."

"I - I know, I just, it is too much, too fast. I did not want to kill Bandorion, Glorfindel and yet I knew that I must. I do not feel guilty for that but still I feel - inadequate."

"You will always remember that, not only because you took and elven life but because it was that of your great uncle," began Glorfindel, glancing for a moment at Narosén who he knew was listening attentively.

"That decision, Legolas, is what makes commanders great. To do such a thing required courage beyond the norm. You could have stayed your hand because he was family, you could have stayed your hand so as not to hurt Barathon in the same way you, had been hurt - you could have done all those things, and I would have called you _selfish_ …"

Legolas finally made eye contact with Glorfiindel as he listened to his mentor's reasoning.

"Those reasons for not killing him were to do with _you_ , no one else. A commander, a king, makes his decisions with respect to the collective good - that is the lot of a good king, Legolas. Imagine," he continued, leaning forward a little. "Imagine a rope that hangs threadbare over a precipice. An elf desperately holds on, his babe clinging to his back, screaming in fright and further down, at the end of the tether, is your own son. Who to save…. do you hang over the edge and hold your hand out to your son?, risk the rope finally breaking and taking the elf and his babe to their deaths? Or do you save those that you can, without risk? As a commander - not a father, as a _king_ \- what do you do?"

Glorfindel's eyes were bright and challenging and Legolas understood exactly what his tutor was showing him. He was showing him why Thranduil had done what he had, why Oropher had sacrificed the happiness of his own son - for the greater good.

"My answer is that I would save those I can, in spite of what may join me to the other- yet I cannot imagine _what_ I would actually do should I ever be in that situation - to sacrifice your own son…" he whispered with a deep frown.

"Yes," said Glorfindel quietly, sadly, the light of wisdom shining back at the one he considered a son. "So you see," he said as he placed a hand on Legolas' knee, "for Oropher to forbid Thranduil to marry his love would have been nothing short of devastating, for in that decision, lay the knife that cut their relationship almost to the bone and even then, Oropher stood for his people - a true king for his own heart was only as precious as the rest of his people - no more, no less."

"I do not think I could ever do that," whispered Legolas.

"No, perhaps not - but then _you_ are not king. But as a commander, Legolas, you may be faced with many similar decisions. Who to save upon the battle field - your friend or the warrior closest to you? It is as simple and yet as complex as that."

Legolas nodded his understanding for his mind, indeed, understood it. His heart, however, could not quite fathom it.

"You are young and have yet to make such decisions, but when you do, they will change you, and you will be stronger," said Glorfindel, and Legolas could see the experience in his eye.

"You must have made some very hard decisions…" he ventured, his eyes watching his mentor carefully.

His only answer though, was a wan smile and a subtle nod, and then he held out his hands to Narosén, accepting the cup of steaming tea the Spirit Herder was serving.

"What then, of Amareth?" asked Narosén. "Should we then include her in this equation? She protected her sister and her unborn babe for months, and then witnessed her sister's murder, taking her new born child to safety. Yet there was nowhere safe for him. Lassiel was known to all and had they learned she had a child, with the reputation she had been burdened with - there was nowhere safe. Had she told you of your heritage, as a child, would you have understood the importance of not disclosing that information - to anyone? To never trust a living soul with the identity of your father ?"

Narosén paused as he sipped his own tea, his eyes far away as he remembered those days.

"And then, when you grew and your features became more defined, her anxiety grew - with each day that passed and you excelled in warfare her fear - became obsession. She has lived with this burden for seven hundred and forty-five years, Legolas. 'Tis a mighty sacrifice I would say."

Legolas' eyes were wide and round, for he had seen, through the eyes of Narosén, Amareth's sacrifice, finally understood why he had been blinded from the truth. Of course Bandorion's shadow would always be there to haunt her for should he have learned the whereabouts of the child, Legolas, in hindsight, did not doubt that he would have been slain.

"I have been selfish…" he whispered.

"From your perspective, Legolas, the story is a bleak one, but from hers, it is tragic. She is finally free of her burden, Legolas. Free of the fear and anxiety thanks to you, for you killed the source of it. Let her rejoice now, that her sacrifice has brought us here, to this moment for without her, you would not be here, and neither would we."

Narosén grew quiet and Glorfindel watched Legolas as his mind analysed. It had been a productive night for his pupil had a sharp mind, it would not take him long to find his peace.

"I saw my mother this night," he whispered quietly and Narosén looked up at him.

"In my waking dream, in the tree - I saw her face look down on me and whisper a silent goodbye - she was beautiful…"

"Oh yes," said Narosén, smiling now. "She was the greatest beauty this wood has ever seen…

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Soon enough, Legolas had retrieved his belongings and the three elves walked into the Silvan camp, amidst the smiles and bows and salutes of the Silvan people, indeed Legolas was finding it hard to advance for the crowds were closing in on him, hands reaching out to touch his shoulder, his hair.

He smiled amidst his shock, for he could not understand it at all. For some reason he had become important to them, not just because he would be invested as their Warlord or because he was Thranduil's son, but on some deeper level. He sensed their respect, their love and their hope and he wondered what he had done to deserve such reverence.

Narosén saw it in his eyes, but there was no such puzzlement in his own eyes - he understood all too well what it was that was happening. Indeed Legolas was still young and too unsure of himself to see it. One quick glance at Glorfindel though, was enough to tell the Spirit Herder that he was not alone in his conclusions. He decided then, that he would speak to Legolas later, when they were alone - prepare him for what was to come, explain to him what it was that was happening to the Silvan people, what it was that Legolas himself had unleashed in them and that now, would not be buried.

Ducking inside the tent, Erthoron, Lorthil and Golloron startled, rising to their feet from where they had been sitting around the morning hearth.

"Legolas," said Erthoron, and Narosén cocked his head to the side. He knew that tone, for it spoke of embarrassment. They had been talking confidences and had been interrupted.

"Forgive us, Erthoron, said a half-naked Legolas, "are we interrupting?" he asked as he deposited his weapons and clothes in one corner.

"Yes," smiled Erthoron, but nothing you cannot hear. Come join us at the hearth, share tea with us," he said, before sinking to the floor once more.

Glorfindel nodded as he accepted the honey and mint tea that Golloron was pouring for everyone. His mouth was dry after imbibing too much of Narosén's cordial the night before - another tea would do no harm at all.

"We were speaking of the preparations, Legolas, for your investiture," began Lorthil.

"There is a ceremony then?" asked the Silvan, his eyes a little too round.

"Yes," began Lorthil. "The King has declared a celebration in four days' time, one that will see the great Feasting Halls of the fortress open to all, for the first time in many centuries. And," he added, "it is rumoured he will open the overhang - so that all can gaze upon the Evergreen Wood."

"What is the overhang?" asked Glorfiindel as he sipped on his tea.

"It is a mighty plateau that extends from the back of the fortress, similar to that of Minas Tirith. It has not been opened for many centuries, simply because there have been no celebrations, at least that we know of. It is a gesture, we believe, from the king; a statement of a new beginning."

"And the ceremony?" asked Glorfindel.

"We will perform it here, on the same day. Legolas, as our new Warlord, will lead us to the king, so that they may pay their respects to him and the Silvan people. It will be a joyous day for us all, Legolas, not just for the Silvan people."

"There are, certain traditions, Legolas, that we would like to uphold…" began Golloron somewhat hesitantly, and Narosén couldn't really blame him.

"What traditions?" asked Legolas.

"Well - the Warlord bears a mark - a mark of his station, here," he pointed at Legolas' now clothed chest, just over one breast.

"You will paint it?" he asked with a smirk, but then he nearly choked when Narosén put him right.

"What?!"

"Legolas, it will not hurt much…"

"I do not speak of the pain, Golloron, I can deal with that, but it will be - permanent?" he asked in disbelief, for he had never heard of anything like it.

"Yes - permanent."

Legolas' eyes were wide, but he said nothing and so Golloron continued. "There are clothes to be made and protocols to be observed, indeed our people visit the fortress this morning, to liaise with Thranduil's people, with his artists, his cooks and musicians…"

"You make it sound so complicated," murmured Legolas.

"It is. This is a mighty thing for the forest Legolas, one we will speak of before then. We wish to be proud of this moment for it will be written in history. We would have this celebration the most recounted of them all, a legendary feast of celebration, with music and dancing the likes of which has not been seenever under these boughs. We wish to show the Sindar what they have been missing, show them all the things we contribute to this society, show them our art, our dance, our song and our pride - our hearts…"

Legolas returned Golloron's heavy gaze with his own and the Spirit Herder's brow twitched. "Your eyes are bright this morning, Legolas."

Legolas paused, and then glanced in worry at Glorfindel, who simply shook his head. "No, not that, Legolas. It is simply that they seem deeper, there is more light behind them than is normal for you."

"What do you mean by 'not that?' Asked Golloron, his head cocked to one side.

"Well," began Glorfiindel with a somewhat furtive glance at Legolas. "When there is a particularly strong communication with the trees his eyes - light up - from the inside…"

Golloron's eyebrows rose but he said nothing.

"I too, have some requests, Golloron," said Legolas. "Who should I speak to about these preparations?"

"Well," smiled Golloron, sharing one fleeting, conspiring glance at the others, "that would be Marhén."

"Marhén," repeated Legolas, watching them all suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Well," smiled Erthoron. "Marhén - is your second aunt…"

Legolas froze, "second aunt?" he asked stupidly.

"Lassiel and Amareth's maternal aunt, yes. She has come from the South-west, she has been waiting to meet you since you arrived."

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"I will stay for the celebrations of course, but after that, I must leave, Legolas…"

"I know," said Legolas as he stood before Glorfindel, watching him as he armed himself and then pulled his cloak on.

"At least now I have an excuse to return to Imladris. My father has entrusted me with becoming a spear master - Captain Dunorel will have to allow that at some point."

"Oh yes - and I shall tell our master to expect you. He will be pleased. And then of course, Elladan is here, and therein is my own excuse for visiting - I will make sure Elrond allows me to travel from time to time."

"I will not say goodbye to you, Glorfindel," said Legolas now, stepping closer to his mentor. "I cannot - "

"You must," said the Noldo. "It will not be forever, child, not even for long, but say goodbye you must."

Legolas' bottom lip moved of its own accord as he stepped closer. "I will not get another moment to tell you this, for my life has become - complicated - I am hardly ever alone now…"

"You must find that time, Legolas. Do not let others command it - find some for yourself, you will need it."

Legolas nodded his understanding, and then looked back into the warm blue eyes he had come to love so well. "How can I ever thank you," he whispered, "for your wisdom and your grace? For your example, your own sacrifice, for being to me a father I never had, until now…"

"I need no thanks, for the blessing of knowing you is recompense enough," he smiled proudly.

Legolas placed a palm of his hand over Glorfindel's heart, and then stepped closer and placed his own cheek over it, until a strong hand held the back of his head and he closed his eyes, revelling for just that instant, in the warmth of love.

Moments later, Glorfindel had gone, returned to the fortress to report to the king and Legolas was left standing alone for the first time since he had walked into the Silvan camp the night before.

Suddenly, it came to him so very clearly, a dark, hidden secret that had been freed from its murky confines and floated to the surface of his mind for the first time. He loved Amareth as he would have his own mother - and, to his utter shock, he loved his _father_ \- Thranduil was no longer the black beast he had lived with his entire life, but a shining king that had sacrificed so much so that he may live…

He would make them proud, he resolved, and he would love them, for however long he was allowed.

For now though, Amareth needed him, and he would leave her waiting no longer…


	61. Royal Blood

Author's notes:

Still going, still on target for two more chapters after this one, and still wrapping things up! Wow, I really did get myself into a thistle patch :)) Even so, there are still unsolved issues, with Barathon and Draugole and Brethil, the Qalma Liltie, Maeneth…

I hope this chapter answers a few more of those recurring questions…

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Lara: Maeneth está de camino - como verás :) Si, la celebración será mítica!

Guest: yes, time is what he needs to get his head around it. Maeneth is on her way - I haven't forgotten - LOL

Rita Orca: Thank you, my dear reviewer :)) OK, although Bandorion is out of the picture, his followers are not. Having said that, the real danger is over - and we are left with individuals with negative feelings. Remember though, that many of those followers were with Bandorion for the sake of the olden days - remember? the Sindarin splendour? Legolas and the Silvans are going to outdo themselves with making that a reality … Barathon and Draugole are still around of course, and they now have to decide what it is they want to do…

Guest: first off, thank you for contributing and I am in no way insulted by your critique. Personally, I don't get the impression that Legolas is untouchable in his judgement and I suppose that is possibly a cultural difference, either that or I have explained myself atrociously! I do have a tendency to make Legolas too perfect - that is true - but I wasn't aware that I was giving the impression he is a pillar of wisdom :)) I wish you had an account so that I could answer you more precisely - but thank you for taking the time to review.

Noph: LOL - are you trying to tell me something? OK, I know - the faberge egg, the spear master, the Qalma Liltie… those are the little seeds I have planted for further stories - I won't forget them :))

Guest 1345: yes, almost over - but Alpha Ori will be back soon with another tale, while Nimruzir prepares another.

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Chapter sixty-one: Royal Blood

He watched her from afar as she peeled carrots and turnip. Her movements were slow and methodical, loving almost, and Legolas rather thought her mind was elsewhere.

She had tucked her chestnut locks into a bun high upon her head, loose strands of it floating freely about her face, something that would have bothered Legolas to no end. She, however, did not even seem aware.

"Amareth," he called quietly as he walked into the tent. He had tried not to startle her, but she had physically jumped as he called her name - far away indeed.

She looked at him, her eyes straying once more to his hair and then back to his eyes, as if she were still unable to reconcile this version of her son with the once that had left her not so long ago in Lland Galadh.

He could read her like a book, he realised, every emotion - her uncertainty, her doubts, her worry, her consternation, her love…

Walking slowly to where she sat, he sunk down to the ground and crossed his legs, looking into the mid-day hearth for a moment before meeting her eyes.

"Mother," he began softly, quietly, and her head rose to meet him. Her eyes, he realised, were so heavy, so full of the things she had lived and for one moment he faltered.

"I know that I will understand what happened, one day soon perhaps, for I wish to travel into the deep forest, find the tree where I know I was born…"

Amareth's brow furrowed. "How could you know that, Legolas?" she whispered.

His sparkling green eyes held her own, honey irises for a while before he spoke. "I have seen it, in my dreams…"

"You have a gift?" she asked warily.

"I was _given_ a gift - I am not a listener, mother. I am a _protege…_ "

With a harsh intake of breath, a low moan escaped her and her eyes filled with rebellious tears. Legolas startled for a moment for he had not expected that reaction at all, but then, as he watched more closely, he saw Amareth's mind as it seemed to search the paths of her long memory and Legolas was momentarily fascinated; honey irises searched blindly, as if there was something before her eyes and yet there was nothing, save for what her mind showed her in private.

"I could never understand it," she whispered as the first tears fell and her bottom lip quivered uncontrollably. "I could never understand your fascination with the tree. Lassiel would leave you there, alone sometimes, and I would scorn her for it, yet she simply smiled and shook her head at me…."

"You think she knew something?" asked Legolas, wide-eyed at what his aunt was saying.

"Perhaps, she whispered. But what I could never conceive, was how he did not find us - how Bandorion never saw us…"

"What do you mean?" he asked, his own skin beginning to crawl painfully.

"Bandorion…. I told you we were there the day he took her life… we were in the tree. She left me with you and led Bandorion away from us she, she took your _blanket_ ," she sobbed, eyes pleading with Legolas to understand, "she bunched it up before her, as if you were there in her arms," she explained, carrying out the movements herself, "and then he _killed_ the 'child', she laughed almost hysterically, her voice rising uncontrollably as her tears fell, and Legolas listened in horrified curiosity.

"He stuck his _dagger_ into that blanket, through the empty cloth and into her loving heart."

Legolas' own eyes closed as the story continued to unfold, as he witnessed Amareth's utter distress at the distant yet vivid memory.

"He stepped back first in shock, and then horror as he realised there was no babe, only the woman he had instantly killed - the king's lover no less. The _rage,_ " she sobbed, "the utter wrath upon his face was the most repugnant of things I have ever seen, Legolas. His fury was hideous, disturbing beyond anything I will ever see in my life - I still dream of that face…"

"And you kept silent, in the tree?" asked Legolas.

"Yes - but it was a talan, Legolas, he should have been able to see it and yet he did not come for us. It was as if he could not see it at all and he _did_ look…

Both elves came to the same conclusion at the same time, and at last, a nascent smile blossomed on Amareth's tear-streaked face. "She was watching over you, even then… she whispered as her questing fingers reached out to touch his face tentatively."

"She? How did you know who…"

"It can be no other, Legolas. To command the trees, the colour of your eyes…" she whispered.

He nodded his confirmation and then smiled himself. "I remember that tree… I have seen it …. I saw a woman I first thought was Lassiel but now that I have seen my mother, I know it was not her - no - it was my Lady in that tree - "

Amareth sobbed in relief, as if all the pieces of her complicated plight had finally come together and she could breath once more.

"I did my best, Legolas… I tried so hard to protect you. By not speaking of it I would not fuel your desire for knowledge - I could not risk that for you were such a bright child. That is my excuse, for what it is worth, yet now, in hindsight, I would not have acted in the same way, not after seeing what it did to you, how you suffered… had I known…"

"I know, mother. I know your heart and I will never question that - I just - I just wanted to know that my father was honourable. I could live with being a bastard, so long as I could believe that my father was a good elf…"

"I am sorry, Legolas. I could not trust them any more, not after Bandorion. He was Oropher's brother, a man of such influence I was terrified even that Thranduil would bend to his wishes, for had his own father not yielded to Agrareb's family's outrageous accusations? - I had no way of knowing his heart, no way of knowing what Bandorion had told him, or whether he simply had not spoken of it… There is nothing worse than the fear of losing the one you most love, Legolas."

Her words rung true. Fear had driven her to take the wrong decision, something she could only come to understand in hindsight, when the damage was done; but hindsight was never a tool one could count on to make a decision, and the damage was not permanent.

Holding out his somewhat battered hand, he reached for hers and then placed his other hand on top.

"You were wrong, but I understand your motives, mother - your mistake does not take the love away, does not take my respect for you away. Had it not been for you, I would surely have died that day, or perhaps later if Bandorion continued to search for me."

Pulling her hand to his mouth, he kissed it reverently and then raised his eyes to hers and smiled.

Her own hand curled around his, latched onto it as if she hung from a precipice and then lurched forwards, wrapping him in a crushing embrace, eyes closing in utter relief, squeezing out the last of her tears.

"I have missed you, my son, and now that it is over, I will scream it to the four corners of Arda. You are my Son! My Sindarin, Silvan son…" she trailed off and then screwed her eyes shut.

Erthoron and Mithrandir entered the tent then, immersed in their own conversation, only to stop still at the sight that met them. The wizard smiled and Erthoron's face softened as his eyes glistened.

"At last," he mumbled, "at long last…"

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THWACK

The expertly crafted arrow hit the target dead centre and the onlooking crowds cheered in delight at the spectacle that Legolas was offering them. Rhrawthir and Idhrenohtar stood at his side and the three Silvans had challenged each other to a makeshift game, one Legolas was beating them sorely at. Indeed their aim had never been to beat him but to see who could come closest.

THWACK, THWACK - One in the inner circle, one a little further away.

"Rhrawthir, release your breath with your hand - they are one and the same, try again and do not release until I tell you to…

Standing behind the Silvan, he checked his stance and then sighted down the shaft, and the young warriors standing on the side lines watched, and made the movements themselves.

"Hold," he said, placing a hand on Rhrawthir's chest.

"Exhale slowly," he said, voice deep, almost hypnotic, waiting for him to obey, "release," he said, and then watched as the arrow flew true, straight into the centre of the target.

"You see!" said Legolas cheerfully before slapping Rhrawthir on the back so hard he stumbled forward.

Before long, when Legolas and his two companions were collecting their arrows, the improvised archery range was packed with eager young warriors, trying their own luck with their Warlord's instructions, while the elder, more experienced warriors exchanged impressions, their eyes often straying to an oblivious, soon to be Warlord.

"They look up to you," said Idhrenohtar with a smile as he slung his quiver onto his back.

"Yes," said Legolas, somewhat embarrassed. "I am not used to this - attention," he said simply.

"Well you'd best make an effort, Hwindo - it's not going to go away," smirked Rhrawthir.

"No, I suppose not," he said as they made their way back to the tents. "Amareth is cooking for us this evening - tell the rest?" said Legolas.

"Excellent," said Idhreno. We shall see you then, unless you need to use us as an excuse to flee all the party preparations," he grinned.

With a shake of his head, Legolas bent inside the tent and stopped short for there, beside Amareth, stood a singular woman. She was tall and elegant, her hair darker than Amareth's, but the similarity was clear, save that her eyes were green, like his own, except perhaps a little darker.

"Legolas," said the woman, her voice deep and mellow. "I have long desired to meet you child- come - come to your great Aunt Marhén!" she smiled.

Sweaty and shirtless from his archery, he smiled apologetically and Marhén giggled. "My, but you are a heart-breaker, just look at you!" she said, her eyes roving appreciatively over the planes of his body, before meeting his eyes once more.

"Tis true then - they did not exaggerate at all," she smiled.

"Oh? What do they say then?" he smiled as he packed his weaponry away and made for the basin of water.

"Come now, false modesty? Or is it that you are vain and wish to hear it from the lips of others?" she smiled saucily.

Legolas frowned as he smiled, pleasantly surprised at the woman's mischievous nature.

"Well let me see," she said, taking a hand to her chin as she thought. "Hair as long and as thick as Vaire's tapestry….the muscles of Beleg himself … the eyes of a Vala ….. the back…."

"Marhen!" shouted Amareth with a giggle, slapping her aunt on the arm.

Legolas giggled as he washed himself down and Marhén came closer to him.

"You are lovely, Legolas. I am proud to finally meet you. My house is yours - always."

Legolas turned to her and studied her strange eyes, before smiling and nodding. "And mine would be yours, if I had one," he smiled ironically. "You are the Mistress of Ceremony?" he asked.

"Oh yes, that is me. Silvan festivities are highly symbolic, as you know, and so much more fun than those stuffy Sindarin customs. This celebration will be remembered in our lore books - indeed even as we speak, the musicians compose their pieces and the choirs practice, and further away the dances are honed and paintings are rendered. Indeed you and I - have an unavoidable appointment with the colouring needles…"

"Ah yes, the - symbol, or whatnot…" said Legolas, drying himself and reaching for his green undershirt.

"What not? Legolas - 'tis the circle of eternal life that you must carry, our most beloved symbol for it speaks of peace, of perpetuating life…"

"And what does that have to do with a warrior, Marhen?" he asked somewhat sarcastically.

"That you are our defender - that you will defend our immortal lives, even unto the loss of your own - it is a paradox and yet not so - do you follow me?" she asked kindly.

"Yes, although it will look strange should I die upon the battle field," he said.

"Not at all, not if you truly understand its meaning, child. The circle of eternal life is perpetual, and even should you die, you will not - for we would carry you in our hearts, even though you rest with Mandos - to bear the circle, is to never be forgotten. This is its true meaning."

Legolas smiled. "That makes sense," he said simply. "When?"

"Now."

He gulped and Amareth smiled. "He has a - problem with the thought of being permanently marked…"

"One I understand," said Marhén. "Yet it is a great honour we bestow upon you, my nephew. Bear it proudly?"

Legolas nodded and then sat, and before long, Marhén had begun her work, work that would not finish until the sun had gone down and Amareth's stew was done.

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"Slovely…."

"What?"

"He said, 'it's lovely'," said Idhrenohtar quite seriously, albeit he had drunk enough of Narosén's cordial to render a Uruk Hai senseless.

"Oh," said Legolas as he flung the skin back and gulped some more.

"Marhén could - could do you too, a lovely - wall of stone - just here…" said Legolas, pointing at Ram en' Ondo's stomach, before slowly keening to one side.

Rhrawthir pulled him back upright and then patted him on the shoulder.

"It must be very expensive - coin neither of us have!" said Lindohtar, swallowing more liquor and then smoothing down his mussed hair.

"Koron might though? Eh? Ball of - of - of-"

"Fire," finished Koron en' Naur with a smirk. "Where's Glorfindel?" asked the Sindarin lieutenant.

Silence suddenly took them all, and furtive glances were cast Legolas' way.

"At the fortress. He's leaving after the celebration," said Legolas.

No one seemed to know what to say, and so they drank and they pondered on the injustices of life, but Legolas stood, swayed slightly on his feet, and then turned to them, his arms a little further away from his body than they would normally be.

"Going for a walk…" he said, and then left, the Company staring after him in knowing sadness.

"He's close to Glorfindel. He is like a father to him," said Elladan. "But this you already knew…"

"Could he not be persuaded to stay just a little longer?" asked Glamohtar, the Noldorin warrior.

"It is time for Legolas to come into his own, Glamo. He needs to make his own decisions now, be resolute, trust his own judgement, rather than do what others tell him he should," said Idhrenohtar, the Wise Warrior.

"But he already does that," said Ram en'.

"Not always, brother. When it comes to his family he is still a little lost - unsure of what to do, what to think - and can we blame him? He only ever had Amareth, at least that is what he was told. He cannot know how to act for all this is new to him, while others take it all for granted. It is easy to forget this. Glorfindel is a rock for him, one that points him in the right direction yet even then, it is Legolas who must come to his own conclusions. I think our Gondolidrim understands this," said Idhrenohtar.

"Yes, yes he does," said Elladan.

"Should we go after him?" asked Lindohtar.

"No," said Elladan. "Leave him be…"

And so the Company sat and they drank, and they counted the days when everything would be over, and they could all, finally, ride together.

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The next morning, Legolas rose early, in spite of his drinking session with the Company the night before. Dressing in his uniform, he slung his bow over his shoulder and slipped his twin knives into his quiver.

Collecting his heavier top locks, he bunched them high on his head and tied them off. Emerging from his tent, he squinted at the brilliant sun, and then turned to make his way to the archery range. Yet before he could take two steps, an elf flung himself at him from the side. Taking evasive action, Legolas tripped him and threw him to the ground with a mighty thud and a puff of dust.

"Legolas," gasped Thavron, "so nice to see you," he wheezed, and Ram en' and Idhreno doubled over laughing, as Hwindo smiled ruefully and helped his friend up.

"Thavron you fool" he shouted in mock anger, before pulling his friend close and hugging him tightly.

Thavron thumped him on the back before pulling away and looking at his friend for the first time in almost two years.

"What have they _done_ to you?!" he asked.

"Oh thank you, Thavron. "Do you not like it then?" he asked vainly as he twirled on his heel, his hair fanning out around him.

"It is - unique - aye," he smiled. "It is good to see you, my friend - a lieutenant, a Lord…" he said quietly, no longer in jest.

"Thank you, Thavron," smiled Legolas somewhat sadly. "You have no idea how much we have missed you. But come, you must spend your time with us - where are you staying?"

"My whole family have come, in that tent there, see?" he pointed.

"Legolas!" came the stern voice from across the camp and he turned sharply with a frown. The sight that met him was not what he had expected.

"Prince Rinion," he bowed formally, as did the Company and Thavron.

Rinion's icy eyes travelled over them all before resting on his half-brother. "Come, I would speak with you," he said authoritatively and Legolas nodded, sparing an apologetic glance at his friends before walking away with Rinion.

"How are the preparations going?" he asked, his eyes to the fore.

"Well, my Prince. I believe your people are liaising with the Silvans on the protocol, the music and the other - whatever it is they are preparing," he muttered and Rinion smirked.

"Tedious, is it not? Yet important it is. This agreement must get off to a good start if we are to take political advantage of the circumstances. This is your first test of statesmanship, Legolas - it is what princes do all the time."

"I am not a prince…"

"No, you are not," answered Rinion. "Yet you are a Lord, and a Warlord - your responsibilities will be similar in many respects, no doubt."

"Are you offering to teach me?" asked Legolas sarcastically.

"Me? No. I will leave that to Handir, he tolerates you."

Legolas' pace faltered and he looked at his older brother. "And you do not tolerate me?" he asked.

"Not well, not yet. Prove yourself to me and we shall see if…." his words were suddenly cut off and his ice-blue eyes widened in utter shock. For a moment, Legolas did not understand, until the gasps around him made his heart sink to the bottom of his new boots and he closed his blazing eyes.

"Legolas?" asked Rinion carefully.

"Legolas?!" he shouted louder now, drawing the attention of the Company, still close by.

Opening his eyes, his mind opened and he listened, just as the Company reached his side.

"They search…. looking for royal blood,"

Narosén was suddenly in his peripheral vision, batting away Elladan's hands.

"Leave him alone," he said quietly as he watched in fascination at the transformation.

"They search for royal blood, to destroy it - 'tis why Lainion died… she is in _danger_!" he hissed.

"Who, who is in danger?" asked Rinion urgently. " _Speak!_ "

"Maeneth - Maeneth is being hunted…"

Rinion's heart faltered and his skin crawled. "Where? _Where is she?_ " he shouted, fisting his brother's collar and pulling him close.

"Close to the Eastern patrol, approaching the Greenwood with a unit of the Lorien guard…"

"How far out," he shook his brother again.

" _How far_!" he screamed.

" _Rinion!"_ shouted Elladan, a dire warning in his blazing grey eyes.

"A day, perhaps…"

Rinion pushed Legolas away from him and turned on his heels. "Bring your Company," was all he said and he was already jogging away. Straightening his uniform and drawing a shaking hand over his eyes, he took a deep breath and turned to the Company.

"Come, we ride with the Prince. Get your weapons and make haste to the stables. If we have already left, follow us due East."

Legolas was now jogging after the frantic prince and the Company ran to their tent to grab their weapons. Soon, they were all gone, and the Silvan camp, including Narosén and Thavron were left staring agape after the warriors, still unable to understand what it was they had just seen in the eyes of their new Warlord.

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"Rinion!"

"Rinion! Wait - listen to me."

"Speak!" shouted Rinion as he continued to jog back to the fortress.

"She is well-protected by the Lorien guard, and the Eastern patrol is twenty strong."

"She will be in the middle of it - I will not have her witness bloody battle, Legolas."

"I understand. With you, me and the Company we are nine more. We still have time before the enemy engages, if we ride hard we can arrive before they do - the Eastern patrol knows there is danger in the area."

"How in the void do you know all this! No! Don't tell me - the _trees!"_

"Yes, the trees! What of it! You _disapprove_?" he spat in frustration now.

"Shut up, and mount up," was all the prince said as he swung himself into the saddle and gave curt instructions to a runner, before wheeling his horse around to face Legolas. "Follow me with your Company, I ride on."

"Rinion!" shouted Legolas, but the prince would not listen and soon, he was galloping away, disappearing into a cloud of dust.

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"My King?"

"What is it boy?" asked Thranduil from his desk, Aradan and Handir at his side.

"Prince Rinion sends urgent word. Princess Maeneth approaches with a Lorien patrol, but he says the enemy is moving…"

Thranduil stood abruptly, an uncharacteristic loss of control making the boy startle.

"Did he say anything else? Do they need back up?"

"He said no more, my King?"

"I don't understand, " he muttered. "How could he know that," he startled then and turned back to the boy.

"Was Lord Legolas with him?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Thranduil's face showed his sudden understanding - "I want Commander Celegon here _now_ , run boy, it is urgent," said the king as he turned to Aradan.

"Maeneth," he whispered, and a smile broke out on his face, in spite of the urgency. "My child…"


	62. Have A Care

Author's notes:

Hello everyone. As I had already predicted, there are still two chapters left of the story, and not one as I had originally stated. There are still issues to be resolved, so please enjoy this instalment, when Legolas finally gets to meet Maeneth, and Rinion suffers - a transformation.

And just a little dedication to 1. I was horrified to hear of what happened to you. You broke nearly all the bones in your body :((( You must be so sore, and that you are reading this, and reviewing with one hand, is a great honour for me. Get well soon, my friend.

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Ninde: qué bien - vacaciones hasta la extenuación - LOL. Me alegro por ti - a ver cuándo me toca a mi!

Guest: thank you!

Guest: hope you find some great Anime stories and if you don't, I hope you will still read the Silvan and his adventures :))

Rita Orca: thank you! I enjoyed writing that scene with Amareth and I am glad the imagery worked for you. Rinion is a strange one, isn't he? But yes, Legolas will have to prove himself somehow, and the perfect opportunity presents itself! I look forward to your reviews then :)) LOL

Noph: yes, the tattoos would be fun, wouldn't they! Glad you thought Marhen was cool - she is quite saucy isn't she?

Guest 1345: Well, Maeneth is on the way, and well protected :)

Earthdragon: I agree with you - not perfect, no. It's funny how different readers will interpret things in radically different ways, though. Who knows, maybe i will one day write that story of the undying lands and the many meetings Legolas' family would have… BTW, Arwen is not in the Lorien group - she stayed behind in Lorien, remember when she bid her friend goodbye?

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Chapter sixty-two: Have A Care

"Captain Thoron!" shouted lieutenant Eramir.

"Report."

"The approaching caravan is twenty strong, from Lorien. By the looks of it there is someone important riding with them - for the Marchwarden himself rides at the fore."

"Are there still scouts deployed?"

"Yes, Captain. He should report within the next two hours."

"And the enemy?"

"Still some time away. We estimate around forty individuals, mostly orcs - some goblins."

"They are always where the official visitors are," mused Thoron. "There is a pattern here Eramir, Commander Celegon hinted at as much."

"It does seem strange …" said the lieutenant. "They seem to be - aware - of our movements."

"Set a steady pace toward the Lorien guard. Let's see if we can intercept the enemy before they engage our visitors, whoever they are…" said the captain, and Eramir did not miss the worry behind his words.

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Silver hair whipped through the air and a prince with cold blue eyes lent forward over his black stallion, a group of eight fey warriors behind him; two were Noldorin, one was Sindarin, four were Silvan, and the last of them was neither one thing nor the other.

The pace that had been set was merciless, and had it not been for Legolas' call to rest, their horses would have been run to ruin. Rinion wheeled his horse around, his cape swirling around him, face furious.

"How dare you!" he seethed as his horse struggled beneath him, flanks heaving too fast.

"You will kill our mounts; someone had to give the order."

"You will not gainsay _me_ , lieutenant," spat Rinion.

"I do what is best for our warriors - _lieutenant,_ " came Legolas' confident reply.

Rinion's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Legolas' slanted even more than they normally were, glittering in silent challenge.

"Five minutes."

"Ten, then we should make it to Maeneth's position without stopping," said Legolas.

" _Princess_ Maeneth to you, lieutenant," said Rinion as his horse pranced beneath him.

" _Princess_ Maeneth, of course, my _Prince,"_ nodded Legolas a little too exaggeratedly.

Soon enough, their horses were drinking in a shallow stream and Rafnohtar pulled his mount alongside Legolas'. "Have a care, Hwindo, or there will be a veritable storm raining down on your head - do not let your protocol with Rinion slip - he is not ready to welcome you just yet."

Legolas stared back at Elladan as he considered his words. "He - _irritates_ me," was all he said in his defence and Elladan actually chuckled. "Of course he does - see how your reactions are identical to his - your choice of words, your expressions, you are far too alike for your own good."

"You cannot be serious," balked Legolas.

"Oh I am - you may not see it now, for he is still bitter, but to me it is as plain as the hair upon your head," smirked Elladan. "'Tis not the first time you have been told this."

Legolas gave him a sour look, but to his credit he did not press the point.

"And well done for standing up to him - your decision was a wise one, lieutenant," he added, before moving away to join the rest. Elladan himself was an experienced lieutenant, and although he did not show it, Legolas was glad of his friend's words, indeed he considered himself lucky that Rinion had not reprimanded him more than he had; he needed to remember that in spite of their differences, his brother was his Crown Prince - he owed him his allegiance, and his respect, at least in circumstances such as these. It didn't mean he had to like it though, and so he turned and checked on the rest of the Company, before regrouping with an already impatient prince, who simply stared at Legolas with a dangerous glint in his eye, one Hwindohtar understood perfectly.

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Maeneth loved riding, but her right leg was beginning to cramp with being slung over the saddle for so long. She fidgeted and Caleniel shot her a disapproving glare, before fussing with the princess' light blue skirts.

Not that it mattered to Maeneth, mind. Her carer was overly-concerned with courtly deportment, Sindarin noble that she was and the princess bore it well enough.

They were so close she could smell it now - her home - feel the thrill upon the air. This was no idyllic, dream-like realm of peace and tranquility, of learning and refinement. This was raw, unadulterated nature and she had missed it fiercely, almost as much as she had missed her beloved brother.

She smiled wide at the thought of him, of his gaul, his ironic sense of humour, his rebellious nature and her soul sang, because after all these years, all the letters and all the things they had spoken of from afar, now, the circle of suffering would end. All she had to do was stay away from Bandorion, from Barathon.

She wondered then, if her father had truly changed. In Rinion's last letter, he had suggested that he had, but her brother had not been clear on that, indeed he had not been clear on anything for the last year and Maeneth knew that with the coming of their half-brother, many things would have changed - even Rinion - she realised.

He had been strangely quiet about Legolas, and Maeneth knew that Rinion would not have taken kindly to him. His presence would be a constant reminder of what they had lost and Rinion was not the most forgiving of elves. Maeneth had always had to calm him down, enough so that he could see sense, rather than acting on his impulses and then trying to defend his actions by reasoning them out - it was an impossible tactic, one their father had tried, and failed, to correct, before he had stopped trying.

Handir's face came to her then and she smiled again. Sweet brother, perfect prince, able statesman; where Rinion was fire and ice at the same time, Handir was warm air and water - steady - unwavering. And then it was her father's striking face that replaced her brother's and a pang of anxiety hit her, wiping the smile from her face. Would she find the same, hollow stare upon his face? The same apathy? Would she find the once great king, still walking in the shadow of what he had once been?

From afar, Haldir watched her, studied her expressions as they turned from joy to sadness and then worry. So expressive, he mused, so - Silvan - in spite of her pure, Sindarin blood. A smile tugged at his own lips as his eyes lingered on her beauty and a haze seemed to fall over his appreciative eyes.

"Have a care, Marchwarden…" smirked his lieutenant and Haldir turned to face him, his expression stern and imperious. "I always do," he said simply.

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Hours of hard riding later, Legolas signalled to Rinion that they should slow their pace and this time, the Prince seemed to understand that the enemy was close by.

"My Prince," began Legolas, no irony in his tone this time. "The Eastern patrol are within ten minutes of our position - here," he pointed, "and the enemy lie to our West, just thirty minutes or so away, if they maintain their current pace."

"Excellent, then we join with the Eastern patrol - we should reach them in good time before the enemy engage them. Lead us to them, lieutenant."

Legolas saluted formally and then signalled to the Company that they should surround the Prince, while he himself took the fore. Soon enough, Legolas emitted a succession of bird calls which were immediately answered, and within moments, the two groups met. Legolas saluted the Captain, one he recognised immediately, for this commander had slapped his face during his ordeal with the Inner Circle - Thoron.

Keeping his face as neutral as possible, he manoeuvred to the right to allow Rinion to approach and the Captain bowed formally. "My Prince, we were not expecting you in the area," began Thoron.

"This is an emergency, Captain. As you are aware, there is enemy movement just thirty minutes away from our position. We stand between them and their quarry, a caravan from Lorien you will also be aware of…"

Thoron frowned and his eyes momentarily slipped to Legolas. "We are aware, although your information is more - detailed than our own."

"Indeed," said Rinion. "You must know that it is Princess Maeneth that travels with the Lorien guard. She must be spared the horror of battle, Captain. I would have us engage the enemy before they are besieged."

"Of course, my Prince. Your warriors will be welcome additions to my patrol, he smiled, eyes returning to Legolas. "Greetings, my Lord," he said with a discreet bow.

Legolas nodded back, and then signalled to the Company to join the warriors behind the Captain, while Rinion joined Thoron and both spoke quietly.

Legolas searched the faces of the warriors while they waited, but he recognised none of them, albeit they were almost all Silvan. They smiled and saluted reverently at him, their faces so open and curious; he could see their unspoken questions, for these warriors had yet to learn of the king's ruling, they would be wondering if Legolas had been proclaimed Warlord, that is why they stared, he told himself, fiddling now with the buckle of his quiver.

Thoron came to stand before them, gathering their attention.

"We ride towards the enemy," began the captain in his powerful commander's voice. "We have a group of forty, orcs and goblins with at least some archers, so have a care. Our objective is to neutralise them before they can engage the Lorien group. I am also informed, that Princess Maeneth is amongst them - she returns home!"

The warriors cheered, and Legolas could have sworn he saw a carefully hidden smile on Rinion's face.

"Archers to the flanks, Prince Rinion?"

"I will fight with the swordsmen," he answered.

With a nod, they moved out and Rhawthir, Idhrenohtar and Lindohtar moved to the flanks with the archers, while Rafnohtar, Glamohtar, Ram en' Ondo and Koron en' Naur stayed in the main group. Legolas, however, was left in doubt, and so he rode up beside the patrol's lieutenant, Eramir.

The Sinda turned his head and stared blankly at Legolas.

"Sir, do you want me with the swordsmen or the archers?"

Eramir's eyes strayed to the mighty field bow that jutted out from Legolas' quiver. It was a magnificent weapon, one the lieutenant would appreciate, for field bows were difficult to wield. One needed as much muscle as he did skill, and a keen eye, for the distances these weapons could cover were surprising.

"Archers, Lieutenant," he said, his tone a little softer now.

Legolas saluted, and turned away to the flanks, where Rhrawthir, Lindo and Idhreno hailed him with a smile, while the other archers beamed at the chance to fight alongside the Silvan elbowing each other as their eyes latched on to the weapon perched upon his back.

Their trot turned to a canter and soon, the stench of the enemy was upon them. Thoron held up his hand and the patrol came to a stop.

"Lieutenant Legolas," he shouted, and Hwindo kicked his horse into action, bringing him alongside the captain, the prince and the lieutenant.

"Sir."

"Do the trees report anything else?" asked the Captain, and the three elves looked back at the Silvan in almost morbid fascination as Legolas listened, even Rinion, whose head was cocked slightly to one side.

"They speak of forty, they say there are archers but they do not say how many - this concerns me slightly, Sir, they do not often specify the weapons of the enemy. For them to do so may imply there are more than we are expecting."

"Position?" asked Eramir

"Coming into our visibility within minutes, Sir - in one group we think."

"Dismount! "Archers!" shouted Eramir, "side and pan," he ordered, using his hands to second his words, watching as the snipers ran to the trees and jumped into their boughs, taking up position. Legolas, however, stayed on the ground, and Eramir did not question him, he would not be able to wield his field bow from the trees.

"Ready!" he shouted, and then they waited….

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"Sir, there is an imminent battle off to the North-east."

"How far away?" asked Haldir.

"Ten, maybe fifteen minutes."

"Send out a scout with all haste, determine whether they require aid. I would prefer not to engage with the Princess in our midst," he said.

The warrior galloped away and Haldir turned to his second. "We move to full alert. Prepare to extract the Princess should we find the enemy."

"Sir!" shouted the Lieutenant, and within seconds the warriors had drawn their weapons and manoeuvred their charges into the centre of the group.

Haldir's critical eye inspected it all, his horse moving up and down the line to check with his warriors, until the scout returned and reported.

"It is the Eastern Greenwood patrol. Twenty-nine strong, Sir, and I believe it is their Crown Prince that rides with them."

Haldir's eyebrows rose in surprise and Maeneth beamed. How he could have known she was arriving was beyond her, but the fact was he was just minutes away from them! In spite of the danger, she was happier than she had been for centuries.

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Black bodies streamed onto the path before them, and with a mighty battle cry, Thoron charged forwards, the swordsmen of the patrol behind him and Eramir at his side, watching the rest of the patrol as they ploughed into the first line of orcs.

Around them, the thwack of arrows preceded the thud of iron and wood as it slammed into black armour and flesh. Legolas' mighty field bow, its longer, thicker projectiles sailed elegantly through the air, finding the more distant targets, the most dangerous enemy archers that remained behind the vanguard and that would be seeking the key members of the patrol - the commanders, the archers…

From above, Idhrenohtar, Lindohtar Rhawthir searched for the enemy snipers that dared to target Hwindohtar who stood shooting below them. His position was necessarily vulnerable, and their job would be to defend him as he shot.

Rinion charged into his first goblin, easily slicing its neck open before moving to the next, sensing Elladan and Ram en' Ondo close by.

The thud of an arrow drew Rinion's attention to a warrior at his side, who fell to the floor with a groan, and then another warrior fell, an arrow sticking out of his abdomen; they were being methodically picked off.

Searching frantically for the source of the arrows, he realised he did not know where they had come from; all he knew is that Legolas had been right, there were more of them than was normal. Their own archers were firing in rapid succession, and while they were taking them out, the orcs were firing from greater distances, their bolts heavier, more devastating.

Blocking a blow, he sliced the hand off an orc and then stabbed another in the chest, and as he fought, his anxiety grew, for arrows flew everywhere, slowly but surely decimating their numbers. The impressive whine of Legolas' bow could be heard again, and again, and Rinion could not resist a glance at his brother, who stood with the most defiant, perfect stance Rinion had ever seen; his bow seemed almost as tall as he was, and the bolts that flew from it were larger and heavier than their standard issue weapons. The draw was slow and precise, and in spite of being an obvious target for the orcs, so far, Legolas had not been hit - but he would be, if he did not move, of this Rinion had no doubt and of a sudden, quite unexpectedly, his heart clenched.

An archer fell from a tree with a scream and the orcs cheered, as more black arrows rained down on them and Captain Thoron's mighty voice screamed above the din.

 _"Legolas!"_

Rinion's eyes whipped to the Captain, who signalled into the trees, from where most of the remaining arrows now seemed to be coming - there would be at least one archer there and Legolas turned his bow, eyes searching for his target.

An arrow glanced off his shoulder plate but he did not move, eyes still searching. Another flew past his head, disturbing his hair but still he did not move - eyes waiting for the orc archer to move and give away his position. With a thud, Idhrenohtar and Rhrawthir jumped to the ground and stood to either side of their leader as Legolas continued to calibrate his shot, picking off as many as they could for the arrows had been coming closer and closer to their intended target.

Rinion was momentarily relieved as he staved off another attacker, but soon enough, both Silvan warriors were drawn into closer battle with their swords and once again, Legolas was left partially exposed.

Another arrow flew true, slamming into black armour, so violently it pierced the orc's chest from front to back, but still their arrows flew and Legolas reached back for another and calmly fit it to his bow, as if he were standing upon the archery ranges of the barracks, instead of a battle field. He drew once more, and held, under the terrified, disbelieving eyes of the Company, who watched from afar as they fought.

"Take them down! Take them _down!_ " screamed Eramir.

Another black arrow whizzed past Legolas' calf but he did not move at all, and then something sharp sliced past his cheek. Even then he did not move and Rinion's mouth worked of its own accord.

"Legolas! _Move!_ "

But he did not, instead narrowing his eyes and watching the patch of distant bough for the moment he sought and suddenly, there it was.

Legolas' arrow sailed from his bow, just as an incoming projectile sliced away his shoulder plate, ripping the shirt and skin below. He swayed to the side before preparing another arrow, for the archer that had almost caught him had assumed victory far too early. With one, final draw, hold and release, the beast shrieked and fell to the ground, no more black arrows ..

The warriors cheered as the fight continued, and Legolas discarded his bow as carefully as he was able, and then pulled out his twin knives and swirled them in his hand before launching himself into the fray, into the thick of the enemy, which coincided precisely with Rinion's position.

Rinion blocked a heavy blow that knocked him off balance and another orc came dangerously close to breeching his defence. There were three other warriors around the prince, but as the battle wore on, the more the enemy flocked to him - royal blood.

Legolas danced into his peripheral vision again, swirling and twisting and turning in a way Rinion had never before seen. It was hypnotic, and _distracting_ , he berated himself as another scimitar came far too close for comfort.

Rinion's back collided with his brother's and knocked him momentarily off balance, a moment one orc took advantage of to land a stinging blow to his face. Legolas' knife blocked the incoming blade with a high-pitched shriek and disarmed his opponent, before slicing through it's arm and sending it to the ground. Stomping his boot into its face, he sent the beast's nose bone into its brain, killing it instantly.

Spitting blood out of his mouth, Legolas moved to the next orc, feeling his brother still fighting behind him.

"Down!" he shouted as he himself ducked a powerful scimitar that sailed over his head. Legolas countered by swiping low and effectively hamstringing his opponent.

A warrior screamed and fell to the ground, drawing Legolas' attention to his brother again, but then movement to the left had him reaching reflexively for the bow that was no longer on his back, for in the distance, partially hidden, was an archer, sighting Rinion. He looked around frantically but there was nothing he could use, only himself.

 _"Archer!"_ he shouted, but he was already sprinting forwards, placing himself in its line of fire. Using his hands, he launched himself into a series of flips and twists, effectively distracting the orc from its aim for it stared open-mouthed as the Whirling Warrior careened towards him, its bow arm sagging as it tried to think on what was happening, but even as it drew breath and began to screech, Legolas was upon it, launching himself into the air and catching its head between his knees. Using his own weight, he pulled to the side and then crashed painfully to the ground. He was on top of it in an instant, plunging both of his knives into either side of its neck.

Pulling them back out with a vicious tug, he stood and turned towards the battle field once more, his knives dripping with thick blood, chest heaving from the exertion of battle.

His eyes found those of his brother, who was already staring back at him from afar, surrounded by dead orcs. It was over, and the lingering gaze between brothers stretched on for there was much to read behind their eyes.

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Captain Thoron, with the help of Eramir, began to organise the uninjured warriors, setting a perimeter guard to watch for stragglers, whilst the wounded were tended to. Elladan was immediately in the middle of it, his cloth back, replete with bandages, liquids and herbs, even tools, now lying open.

"Lieutenant Elladan, take charge of the wounded," commanded Thoron as he passed, and then gestured to Legolas to join him. Jogging back to where he had left his bow, he stashed it safely on his back and joined the captain.

The Commander looked at him for a moment, before surveying the battle field and then speaking softly. "Your skill with that contraption is duly noted," he said, eyes roving over Legolas' beaten face and then his exposed shoulder. His eyes widened for a moment in surprise.

"It is official?" he asked, "you are Warlord?" he asked.

Legolas looked down at himself, realising that Thoron had seen the mark. "I will be, in two days' time."

"Congratulations then, Lieutenant. I look forward to working with you again. Who has been assigned your captain?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"Captain Dunorel, Sir," replied Legolas.

Thoron nodded. "He is one of our best, you are lucky to train under him. Look after that," he gestured to Legolas' torn arm, "we cannot afford to lose your bow, lieutenant."

"Thank you Captain," said Legolas, saluting and then walking to where the Company were regrouping and Thoron continued to watch him from afar as the young lieutenant checked his warriors, speaking with them before joining Elladan to help with the wounded.

Thoron smiled and then turned to his own lieutenant, Eramir, who now stood beside him, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Yes, I know," chuckled Thoron and Eramir allowed himself a smile.

"What a find," said the stoic lieutenant.

"Indeed," murmured Thoron.

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Elladan had been pulling arrows for the last ten minutes, and he sat up for a quick respite, wiping a hand over his brow to remove the strands of hair that had stuck to his forehead. Legolas held out a skin of water to him which he took gratefully, throwing his head back and drinking, some of the water running down his neck unchecked.

Finishing with a great gasp for air, he rolled his shoulders. "I wonder when I can start my project, another healer here would do the world of good," he said as he surveyed the camp. "Come, sit," ordered the Noldo as he reached for his bag again.

"It's nothing Rafno," said Legolas, sitting slowly with a groan he had not been able to suppress.

"What is it?" he asked as he reached for the bottle of disinfectant.

"I need to perfect that move, the landing was - _painful_ ," he said ruefully as he rubbed his hip.

"I didn't see it, but I have already heard something of it - drawing attention to yourself again?" snorted Elladan as he cleaned the cut high on Legolas' arm, where his shoulder plate had been.

"Not intentionally," he answered a little timidly.

"And tell me, are there any teeth left in that big mouth of yours?" asked Elladan with a snort.

Legolas simply smiled wryly, and then startled a little as he felt the presence of another, crouching at his side. Turning his head, he was surprised to find Rinion's face now close to his own, icy blue eyes boring into him uncomfortably.

"How is he?" asked the Prince of Elladan, his eyes riveted on Legolas.

"What you see, my Lord, and a nasty bruise to the hip."

Rinion looked peeved as he listened and he stared at his brother, but his words did not fit his expression at all.

"You fought well, Lieutenant. You have my thanks."

Legolas held his gaze as levelly as he could manage, but his head tilted slightly to one side. He had not meant to move it at all, but this elf was perplexing and unnerving, ambiguous and so very difficult to predict.

"It was my pleasure, my Prince," replied his rebellious mouth, for neither had he thought to say those words - but he had, and what surprised him the most, was that he had truly meant them.

Rinion too, seemed surprised but he did not comment. He simply stood, spared a nod at Elladan, and then walked away.

"Is it true? Has the king accepted our request? " asked one warrior, startling both Elladan and Legolas, who had been contemplating Rinion. The newcomer's eyes were staring at the circle of eternity that sat high on Legolas' chest, half way to his shoulder.

"Yes - yes he has accepted," he said simply, watching as a smile blossomed on the warrior's face.

"It is an honour to meet you, Lieutenant," he said. "I have been charged with telling you that we, the Silvan warriors, are proud to fight along side you."

Legolas processed the words as calmly as he could manage, allowing the first words that came to him, to tumble out of his mouth. "And I am proud to serve with you, warrior, with all of you, be you Sinda, Silvan or Avarin.

"The Silvan's smile became wider as he bowed from the waist and then strode back to the thick of able-bodied warriors, slapping them upon the backs and talking animatedly. A cheer went up amongst them and Elladan smiled as he worked.

Soon, the entire Company sat in a circle around Elladan and Legolas, and from afar, Thoron, Eramir and Rinion watched them.

"It is a good job he is on our side, that his loyalty is not questioned. He will be a mighty commander - he will move them in a way Oropher himself once did - more even, perhaps," said Thoron. Rinion heard the words, knew them as truth, in spite of his immediate temptation to make a sarcastic comment. He didn't though, for in his mind he saw once more as Legolas moved into the path of the archer that had sighted him. The sheer power it had taken to move so quickly, and then the tactic that had taken down the orc. Legolas had saved his life and had not sought to collect his thanks, indeed Rinion had been sure he would not.

Closing his eyes for a moment, the battle inside him was being won, and Rinion wondered then, how much longer he could resist what was slowly becoming inevitable. This damnable Silvan child, was getting under his defences, slowly seeping into his tough hide, to the softer tissue below.

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Bird call erupted around them, and moments later, Haldir and the Lorien guard filed into their camp, dismounting at the perimeter. Rinion's eyes searched frantically behind the Marchwarden, but the warriors were so tall, he could not see her - until a wisp of silver hair snaked from around an archer's shoulder and he began to stride forward, until the stride became a canter and then a full out run.

The warriors before Maeneth saw him just in time to move out of the way, and before they knew what was happening, the two elves had come together in a fierce embrace. Rinion's hands cradled his sister's head to his chest, desperately clinging to her, as if he could not believe she was physically there, in his arms.

Thoron, Eramir and Haldir watched quietly as the siblings were reunited for the first time in an almost incomprehensible seven hundred years, and more than a few eyes had become overly bright, for to see Rinon, Crown Prince of Greenwood, express such strong emotion was simply unheard of, and yet so very welcomed for in that one moment, he became alive, became approachable.

From afar, Legolas watched somewhat melancholically as he busied himself with helping Elladan with an elf who had taken an arrow to the calf.

Elladan took his eyes momentarily from the wound he was cleaning, and followed Legolas' line of sight. He stopped dead, his hands freezing over the wounded warrior as his eyes latched onto the source of his shock, for shock it was - his heart sped up, out of control and his breathing accelerated in a half-hearted attempt to keep up. The din around him faded into nothing, as if dampened by morning fog and his eyes focussed only on the silver-haired elf that smiled up at Rinion. Everything else had become a blur, and even Legolas' words went unnoticed.

"Rafno!" said Legolas for the third time, before turning to where Elladan was staring, and when he realised who his friend was observing, his head snapped back, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

"Elladan …"

"What?" snapped the Noldo, as if he were being rudely interrupted.

Legolas let out a long, noisy breath. "I do not think that is a good idea…." he said drolly.

"And what would _you_ know?" asked Elladan as he arched his right eye brow, and then regretted it as his tone came out harsher than he had intended.

"Forgive me, I did not mean…" began Elladan.

"Whatever," said Legolas with a wave of his hand. "Just, have a care, Elladan."

The Noldo simply nodded, before turning his eyes back to his patient.

"Will you not go to them?" he asked Legolas.

"Not yet," he murmured. "I would only distract them from their reunion - it has been so long for them."

Eladan knew he was right; Rinion and Maeneth seemed close, as close perhaps even as he was to Elrohir and he wondered, how it would feel to be as close to her as her brother was now, stand before her, fall into her beauty, possess it…

From across the glade, Haldir watched Elladan as he watched Maeneth and his jaw twitched in irritation. One battle had just ended, and the Marchwarden wondered, if another one was about to begin.

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The Eastern patrol, together with the Company and the Lorien guard, slowly made their way towards the heart of the forest, and Thranduil's court. Song had erupted amongst them, for the Princess returned to her birth place and they shouted it to the heavens. Bird call followed them and then echoed back at them as elves ran through the trees, bearing the tidings to every corner of the forest.

The Lorien guards remained on full alert, while the Silvan warriors smiled as they sang, and the Sindar sang but did not smile.

The wounded rode before their fellow soldiers, and at the centre, rode Rinion and Maeneth. They talked quietly, their heads drawn together, but sometimes they would just listen as the warriors sang. They were happy, and Legolas marvelled at this new, so far unseen side of his older brother, the caring, protective brother that loved just as fiercely as he hated.

Just before they had mounted up, Rinion had called Legolas to meet Maeneth. It had been brief and somewhat formal. She had smiled as she inspected him, and he had traced the lines of her beautiful face, committing her features to memory, but Rinion had cut it short and Legolas could not say he blamed him for that. There were many arrow injuries and their prompt return to the Greenwood would mean they would reach comfort soonest, not that Legolas was sure those were his brothers thoughts though. And so, with a nod, they had parted ways, and Legolas had missed the reproving stare that Maeneth had cast in her elder brother's direction.

She was utterly beautiful, he mused, and he knew he was not the only one to think the same, for Elladan had fallen under her spell no sooner he had first set eyes upon her from afar. He would have to introduce them, the thought, if he could get anywhere near her, he snorted, for Rinion had her full attention and Legolas could not help but think it strange.

Yet why would he think it strange? Rinion was an elf, he had a heart and a soul and although he often seemed made of stone and ice, Legolas knew that was the result of his suffering, it was what his brother had become, not how he had been born. Their sister was the key, he realised then - the key to Rinion's return to happiness and with it, perhaps a chance for his own contentment.

It was back again, that sense of loss, of what he could have had, and had been denied, was still denied. He was jealous of their happiness he realised, and it made him angry, at _himself_.

He knew the Company watched him, except for Elladan who was far too busy watching the wounded. Idhrenohtar, especially, seemed to have read his thoughts and he wondered how many of the others could see his emotions. Schooling himself, he looked away and allowed his eyes to stray into the trees, spotting the silvans sitting there, swinging their legs over branches as they watched the caravan, waving as they passed and then scurrying ahead to tell the story of who was approaching the fortress, and just who accompanied her.

Children of the forest, he smiled, simple souls - uncomplicated, open and receptive. He missed that simplicity, the joy of simply being and he knew, inexorably, that he would never be as carefree again.


	63. Resist No More

Author's notes:

Hello everyone. I feel like laughing but there are STILL two chapters to go :))) I promise I am not doing this on purpose.

OK, we have a pivotal moment here, because a certain ice prince is going to melt…. tissue alert!

For the fluff lovers amongst you, I hope this chapter satisfies.

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Guest 1345: Thanks! Yes, Maeneth is home and everything will change :))

Guest: Thanks! More with the siblings coming right up.

Ninde: Hace dos capítulos quedaban dos capítulos, y sigue faltando dos capítulos - uff!

Noph: glad you liked the battle - romance for Elladan? Well he's up for it!

Rita Orca: fantastic! :)) A sequel - oh yes, the question is more about when that will be.

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Chapter sixty-three: Resist No More

They were singing at the camp ahead, for the merry, Silvan tune floated upon the afternoon air and infused them all with a sense of warmth and belonging, even the Sindar joined in the forest air and this time, they did smile, their eyes straying from time to time to their lovely princess who sat amongst them, hand in hand with their Crown Prince, her face set in absolute bliss.

Elladan watched them and smiled, his sparkling grey eyes alight in curiosity and admiration.

"Rafnohtar - you are besotted," snorted Lindohtar from beside him.

"Elladan turned a peeved face to his brother in arms. "I am not - _besotted_ \- " you Silvan fool," he said, but his eyes turned back to Maeneth once more and the smile was back.

"Oh, oh!" exclaimed Lindohtar as he flapped his hand in the air - "I feel a melody coming to me…. Silver Princess of my Noldorin heart, I…."

" _Shhshshshshut_ up!" hissed Elladan, batting at Lindohtar's theatrically gesticulating arm.

The Silvan chuckled wildly, drawing the attention of the other warriors around him.

Lindohtar did stop laughing, but he could not hold it for long, and a long, drawn out snort escaped him again and he pulled away from Elladan, regrouping with the rest of the Company as he chuckled uncontrollably.

Elladan scowled, and his eyes accidentally fell upon Haldir, who was staring back at him strangely. His scowl deepened, watching as the Marchwarden turned his eyes to Maeneth and suddenly he understood, and a sinking feeling invaded him. Were they together? he wondered, for there had been no mistaking that look of possessive protection Haldir had shot him.

He would find out, he resolved. Legolas too, watched his sister and Rinion, he realised, yet it was not joy Elladan could see on his face. There was curiosity there, but there was also sadness, and Elladan was suddenly reminded that this elf was but half his own age. It was easy to forget when one spoke with him, fought with him, but in this one thing, when his gaze was unguarded, he was still readable.

Elladan could not bring himself to resent Rinion though, however much he disliked the elf. He obviously shared a special relationship with his sister, and he could not fathom what it would have been like to have been separated for all those centuries. Even so, both siblings had all but ignored their half brother, after a duteous and all too brief introduction by a reluctant Rinion, and although Legolas would never admit to it, Elladan knew it had stung him.

They could see the tents of the Silvan encampment up ahead, and then the mighty stone fortress beyond, their final destination and Elladan's eyes were back on Legolas, watching as he fidgeted again in the saddle - his hip was giving him grief yet he had not complained at all. Poor child, he mused in fondness and suddenly wished he could deposit his friend into the arms of his Silvan kin, to Amareth and Marhen for some well-deserved comfort and attention. It would soon be his investment and the ensuing feast at the fortress - there would be little time for rest and recovery then.

His eyes swivelled back to Maeneth of their own accord and he realised she had sought Legolas with her own eyes, bright with curiosity and, perhaps, admiration. He could not be sure, yet one thing was certain, she did not share Rinion's instant aversion to his half-brother and his heart swelled even more than it had the first time his eyes had fallen upon her. He smiled stupidly, blissfully unaware of the expression that had taken up residence on his undoubtedly Noldorin features. A loud snort and ensuing chuckles broke the magic and Elladan closed his eyes in utter frustration and exasperation.

The sound of choirs and music was becoming louder as they approached the outlying Silvan camp. It was massive in its expanse, and Rinion's head was close to Maeneth's again as he explained their presence and the imminent festivities. Her eyes slipped briefly to Legolas once more before turning back to her brother.

Haldir and Thoron hung back now, allowing the two royal siblings to ride at the fore with a smile and a bow and the warriors sat straighter, taller as they rode behind them.

Filing into the Silvan camp, they smiled and Maeneth waved as they passed the excited elves who waved back and threw wild flowers at the returning princess, who laughed as they fell upon her. Rinion's face melted as he picked some of them from her dress and stuck them into her hair with an adoring smile.

He had insulted these people once, not so long ago. Had discarded them as necessary allies and nothing more. He had fallen into the habit of repeating his great uncle's intolerance with pejorative words for it had felt good to do so - not because he actually believed what he said, for truth be told he had not even thought too much on it - nay he had done it because the anger had made him feel good - he had needed that excuse to vent it, reduce the pressure in his own mind so that it did not burst into a thousand pieces.

And yet now, as he watched them, watched the adoration in their eyes as Maeneth passed them, the flowers they regaled her with, the songs of welcome they sang to her - he felt ashamed - of himself and his cruelty towards these, delightful beings, ashamed that he had lost himself so utterly and his eyes glanced over his brother. His face was straight, and there was a hint of pain behind his extraordinary eyes. So young, so vulnerable if you knew how to look… and how Rinion had taken advantage of that to vent his own suffering. He had asked the boy to prove himself and he had, he had told the boy he meant nothing to him and he had lied, he had laughed at his predicaments, scoffed at his skills, and although he had not said as much to his sister, he knew that she knew.

His own joy at his sister's homecoming was still there, but it had been tempered with the wanderings of his mind and so he stopped himself. There would be time enough to mend the damage and although Rinion was not one to show his emotions freely, he would, at least, cease to cause his brother the suffering he knew he had.

Maeneth's soft, warm hand took the one that rested on his thigh as he rode and Rinion startled for a moment, and then allowed his eyes to sink into her lovely face, submit himself to her knowing eyes and she smiled as she squeezed. Yes she knew, she knew his mind, she always had and still - she loved him.

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The mighty gates of the fortress groaned as they slowly opened, revealing what seemed to be the entire Sindarin population, standing stock still in the courtyard. Even the healers stood outside their building, watching as the patrol entered, their prince and princess at the fore.

Upon the steps that led inside, was the mighty Sindarin king, Thranduil, and at his shoulder, Prince Handir and Lord Aradan and behind them the entire Permanent Council together with Mithrandir and Glorfindel.

The silence was in stark opposition to the still singing Silvans that stood just outside, and Elladan thought they might not stop at all now.

Slowing to a halt, he jumped to the ground and approached Nestaron with a nod.

"Nestaron, we have eight arrow wounds, one stab to the side and multiple contusions," he reported. The Sindarin Master Healer nodded, eyes roving over Elladan himself to ensure he was not injured.

"I am fine, come, we have work," he said, turning to the wounded.

"No, Elladan, _I_ have work, _you_ must rest. I do not need you - go," he said. Bathe, eat and rest and if you feel the need to return after that, then do so."

There was no room for argument and so Elladan nodded, and then returned to the Company, who had already relinquished their mounts and stood together, watching from afar as Thranduil's children were reunited….

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A woman, his daughter was a woman and her beauty overwhelmed him. It was Aglareb before him and yet not so, for the look in her eyes was that of Rinion, of Handir, of himself. She was strong, confident, happy. His daughter did not share the childhood traumas of her brothers, he realised and his joy was twofold.

Soft skin shone in the afternoon sun, pale and pure, rosy and luminescent, her features angular and her lovely eyes of pale blue, surrounded lovingly by dark lashes and strong eyebrows. This was not the child that had left them seven centuries ago, this was a silver-haired princess of Greenwood the Great, and he could not quite believe that she was _his._

She smiled as her eyes explored the imposing figure of her father and Thranduil watched her in fascination, but protocol was screaming to be heeded and so, with a bow and a brilliant smile, the king spoke.

"Welcome to Greenwood the Great, Princess Maeneth Thranduiliel. Our joy is indescribable, you have been sorely missed."

He paused as he waited for the words she would utter in response, wondering what her voice would sound like, and when she spoke it was deep and soft.

"Thank you, my King. I am home, at last…" she said triumphantly and then smiled a brilliant smile that melted Thranduil's awakening heart. He wanted to pull her into his arms and crush her against him but he could not - not here.

Handir stepped forward with a smile, his eyes registering every detail of her face, her hair, her clothes, her hands… reaching for one, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. "My heart sings, sister," he said softly, and then stepped back reluctantly.

The king gestured for Maeneth to take his arm and together, they walked inside. Rinion hesitated, turning one last time before entering the fortress, his eyes seeking and finding Legolas who looked back at him from afar.

With a subtle cock of his head, he extended a silent invitation for Legolas to join them, but with an equally subtle shake of his head, Legolas declined. The boy's face was sad and Rinion thought he understood him. He would feel like an intruder, an outsider - it was not, perhaps the time. But he would find him later, he vowed. When Maeneth had settled and they had spoken, he would bring Legolas to the fortress to better meet his sister.

Ducking inside, he followed his family towards the king's private suite, under the shocked, admiring eyes of Greenwood's lords and ladies, who smiled and bowed as they passed, for Greenwood's Royal family were reunited at last. The small party bore it stiffly, watching as Sindarin nobility watched, and the cogs of their agile minds began to turn faster. Thranduil's daughter was home - and _eligible_.

Finally though, the great oaken doors of the king's rooms slid shut and Thranduil whirled on his heel, his expression so intense it made Rinion want to step back. Advancing almost predatorily upon his daughter, he stopped just a step away from her.

Her smile was gone as she stared up at her father's burning eyes and shining crown and Rinion knew she saw what he himself did, what Handir surely did it. He saw his _father_ , open and threadbare, an expression upon his face that, if one did not know better, may have been described as shock for his mouth was open and his eyes wide, his breathing too quick and his eyes searching, searching for signs of hesitance from Maeneth, of resentment but there was none, and before Rinion could blink, Thranduil was crushing the body of his daughter to his chest, arms wrapped fiercely around her shoulders, her silver head tucked under his strong chin.

Thranduil's eyes sought the ceiling, wide and shaking, and tears spilled from his light blue eyes, before he screwed them shut and rested his cheek against the crown of her head. Rinion felt his own eyes fill rebelliously but he would not let his tears fall and so he breathed through the emotion and watched as the moment stretched on and still, Thranduil clung to her as if his life depended on her, and perhaps it did, for should she reject him now she would surely be the end of him. But no, Rinion knew that was not the case. She had solved her own issues many years ago, was free of the bitterness that Rinion still harboured, indeed when she finally pulled back, she smiled serenely and then kissed her father upon the cheek.

It was a simple kiss, innocent and heart-felt, but to Rinion it seemed as though the fogs of Valinor had opened up before his father's eyes, revealing to him true happiness for the first time. In that, one kiss, Maeneth seemed to finish what Legolas had started two years previously. His father was alive, vibrant, complete, an elf of great strength and wisdom - powerful and commanding - _loving_.

Rinion's mind detached itself, turning inwards upon itself and he remembered…

 _'…what would you know…'_

 _'… stay out of my life!'_

 _'I will do what I think is right…'_

 _'…Silvan bastard…'_

 _'…do not ask me to accept him…'_

 _'…you are weak!'_

 _'… I loved you once…'_

 _I still love you…_

His mind lingered and Maeneth's soft hand came to rest on his forearm, her concerned eyes asking silently what ailed him.

He turned to his father but, unlike himself, there was no confusion on the king's face, he seemed to understand and Rinion took a hesitant step towards him, frowning as he did so, for his mind had yet to understand what his heart bid him do.

Another step forward and another tear escaped the mighty king as he watched patiently but still, Rinion frowned and he walked, stilted and clumsy, for something had broken inside him but it was not his heart. He felt light-headed, dizzy and a low buzz hummed in his ears and soon he was so close to his father he could feel his heat, see the light reflect off the tear that rolled over his bottom eyelid - he watched it in fascination as it slowly slipped down his father's perfect skin, down to the corner of his mouth and then he looked up again, into the ancient eyes.

It was not his heart that had broken, it was his defences - they had first cracked, and then shattered into a thousand pieces with a simple kiss, for he no longer needed them - there was nothing to defend himself against any more - the danger had gone.

One more step forward and he walked into his father, arms still at his sides for he did not know what to do anymore, but his father did, and with a strangled gasp he flung his arms around his first-born.

"Rinion, my _child_ ," he gasped desperately, and Maeneth covered her mouth as she cried freely.

But Rinion could not speak. His cheek rested on his father's strong shoulder and his mouth hung open, eyes unfocussed, lost in the depths of his own mind for the sensations, the feelings that came to him were so intense he felt paralysed, unable to react save for the tears that rolled down his own face, onto his father's tunic.

Finally, he slowly closed his eyes and when he opened them again he had returned, and with his return came exhaustion beyond anything he had ever felt. He stepped back, and with a brief glance at his father, he turned and sat, rubbing one hand somewhat compulsively over his thigh. Maeneth saw it and turned to the sideboard, retrieving four glasses and pouring her father's Darwinion she was now old enough to drink.

Handing her father and brothers a glass, she took her own and observed them both through her tears.

"Well then," she chuckled, and then drank, but no one else spoke and Maeneth was old and wise enough to understand that it was not the moment for words, only to feel, and to heal.

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It had taken some time to get the wounded inside and in bed and now, the Greenwood's healers were beginning their treatment and care of their warriors.

Nestaron was busy with the more serious cases, and his head healers were tasked with stitching and disinfecting. The junior healers were seeing to the cuts and bruises and slowly, the Halls began to fill with family members in search of their wounded, especially the Silvan's who even brought food from their own hearths so that their sons and daughters could thoroughly nourish themselves.

Legolas, still bloodied and filthy himself, limped from one room to the next, visiting the warriors. He was received with radiant smiles and reverent bows, and the Silvan mothers would offer him cakes and sweet biscuits. He refused them with a smile and a bow, asking them to save their delicacies for their brave sons and daughters.

An hour later he had finished, strangely content with the work he had carried out. He had refused to return with the rest of the Company, had even refused their presence and so they had left the fortress, bound for their tent in the Silvan camp.

Sighing, he turned in search of a water pitcher and a clean towel with which to make himself minimally presentable, but the only thing he found was Llyniel's concerned gaze.

"If you stay, you allow me to treat you here. The alternative is to leave now, go to your family and rest Legolas, you are tired and sore, I can see it in your eyes."

He stared back at her for a moment, and then smiled in defeat. "Aye, I would not not gainsay you," he began and then added, almost as an afterthought. "Llyniel, I wonder - I was thinking - would you like to accompany me - to the celebration I mean?" he asked a little unsure of himself, of what her answer would be.

She stared blankly at him, until his meaning clicked and her eyebrows rose. "Accompany you? as your - _companion_?"

"Yes," he answered somewhat defensively. "I still do not know how it will be, but us being Silvans, I am sure there will be much revelry later - I would like to escort you, if you would allow it?" he pressed, feeling minimally satisfied it had come out the right way, and that his nerves had not betrayed him.

She smiled and then stepped towards him. "You would have to ask my father, but should he accede, I would be honoured," she murmured, her eyes losing a little of their focus.

"Your father?"

"Yes - you see," she stepped even closer, "I am Silvan at heart, but I am only half Silvan in blood.

Legolas was surprised, he had thought her Silvan, but he was even gladder that she was like him and he smiled. "And where can I find your father?" he asked almost absently.

"Well," she smirked as one hand reached up to ghost over the bruise on his face, "find your own father, and you will find mine…" she smiled mischievously.

Legolas frowned for he did not understand.

"My father - is Lord Aradan, Legolas."

His eyes bulged and his mouth opened. " _What?!"_

Llyniel chuckled and then looked back up at him and he suddenly realised how lovely she was. It was not only her features but the expression in her eyes, open and inviting, natural and - adoring.

He smiled and then moved closer, resting his filthy hand over her cheek and then slowly moving towards her, his mouth opening…

"Legolas?" came the deep, ironic voice of Marhen, and Legolas closed his eyes in frustration as Llyniel spun around in shock, her hair whipping him in the face.

"I was just leaving," she said hurriedly, casting one last glance at Legolas. "Speak with my father, my Lord, and send word?"

"Of course, thank you, Llyniel," he nodded formally and then turned to Marhen, who watched him with a wry smile. Amareth appeared behind her then and her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of him.

"Child, what have you done," she muttered as she walked forwards.

"Mother, it is nothing. I just want to return with you and rest, if I may."

"Oh you will return with us, and you will let us care for you as you do not seem capable yourself," she rambled, taking him by the arm and pulling him along. She slowed her pace though, when she realised he limped and Marhen walked on his other side, looking up at him worriedly.

"Come," she said calmly and Legolas had no intention of gainsaying her.

Leaving the Halls of healing, the two Silvan ladies escorted their soon to be Warlord, smiling and nodding as the warriors saluted and Legolas answered, his face carefully schooled, his limp almost imperceptible and thus they entered the Silvan camp and finally, Amareth's tent.

Gesturing authoritatively to the pallet in one corner, Legolas gingerly lowered himself with a groan, and then stretched his legs out before him, for it hurt to sit up, he realised.

Marhen turned to Amareth, murmuring something to her before she turned back to Legolas and knelt upon the rug beside the bed.

"Here, let me help you," she said, reaching for the buckles of his armour.

"I can do it, Marhen," he answered, reaching up with filthy hands to the leather straps. Just then, Elladan ducked into the tent, walking straight to the pallet and crouching beside Marhen.

"I knew it - that hip of yours - take your breeches off," he said as he rose and took off his own over tunic. "Better still, take everything off, I don't trust you," he murmured and Legolas smiled wryly.

Soon, his clothes and stained armour were taken away by Amareth, and Legolas sat awkwardly with nothing but a thin sheet pooled around his waist.

"Lay back, Legolas, I know it must pain you to sit up."

"How do you know?" he asked, perplexed.

"Because I can read your face, my friend. I am an experienced healer, I know the signs of pain when I see them. Now come, lay back," he said, his hand pressing down on Legolas' chest until he lay flat.

Lifting the sheet on one side, he pursed his lips and frowned. "Stubborn fool," he murmured and then turned to his pack and rummaged through it - he still had not had time to order it after his work on the field earlier. However, he found what he needed and unscrewed the top.

"Can you turn onto your side?"

"Umm," said Legolas as he turned towards Elladan, the sheet covering his front but exposing the entire side of his body from head to foot. Dipping his fingers into the cream, Elladan applied it to the rapidly bruising hip, rubbing it in vigorously until most of it had been absorbed. Reaching for a cloth he wiped his hands and then looked at Legolas' face.

"You are always getting punched in the face," he tutted and Legolas snorted.

"I think it's jealously," he said seriously and Elladan laughed heartily. "You may be right, pretty boy," he scoffed and then turned back to Legolas.

"Rest, my friend. No flights into the forest, no midnight trysting or deep, philosophical conversations, just sleep and wake when you will. No exercise for two days and stay - off - the - acrobatics - Hwindohtar," he smirked.

"Yes my Lord Rafnohtar," said Legolas, lying flat on his back again and sighing. Elladan smiled and then stood to leave, meeting Amareth on the way out.

"Is he alright, my Lord?" she asked.

"He is fine, Amareth, just a badly bruised hip. Make sure he uses the cream I have left there, and that he sleeps. I have ordered no strenuous exercise for two days."

"Thank you, my Lord," she smiled.

"Elladan, or Rafnohtar, whichever you prefer," he smiled back at her.

"Rafnohtar? she scowled and smiled at the same time."

"Yes - it is a long story," said Elladan before nodding and walking away to the tent he shared with the Company, for he had a report to give them if Legolas was going to get a decent night's sleep.

Amareth sank down beside the pallet and gave Legolas a pair of loose sleeping pants which he took gratefully, pulling them on and then rising into a sitting position with a groan.

"Legolas," she began, just as Marhen joined them with a bowl of fresh water and clean cloths.

"Son. Lay back child, let us care for you."

"I am alright, mother…" he whispered.

"Indulge us? she asked sweetly as she smiled adoringly at him. He melted, into her honey eyes, her sweetness, her love for him and he smiled back. Unable to maintain his body in a sitting position any longer, he lay back down and immediately felt his great aunt's fingers in his hair, undoing his braids gently, working out the knots with her fingers. The feel of her hands in his hair was lulling him into a state of sleepy bliss and Marhen chuckled softly, her eyes catching Amareth's as she cleaned her son's face lovingly.

After that he knew no more, until the sky brightened and he cracked his eyes open, only to startle as he caught sight of Narosén sitting cross-legged before the hearth at the centre of his tent.

"Good morning, Legolas," said the Spirit Herder as he poked at what looked and smelled like a hearty breakfast.

"Narosén," he whispered sleepily, pushing the thin sheet down and slowly sitting up.

A groan escaped him, for his muscles were stiff and his hip had turned an even darker shade of purple, the bruise escaping the waist band of his breeches and reaching almost to the base of his chest.

Rising slowly, he sunk down beside Narosén and then lay upon the carpet, propping himself up on one elbow. "That smells good," he said, his eyes looking at the food longingly.

Narosén smiled and dipped into the pan, pulling out a fillet of steaming white fish, dripping in herb butter.

"Here, our people went fishing this morning…."

Legolas accepted the plate with one hand and set it before him, blowing on it before using his hands to break of a piece of the flaky fish and suck it into his mouth. He groaned again, but this time in delight.

"It is delicious," he said as he ate, missing the proud smirk on Narosén's face as he, too, helped himself to the fish.

"Legolas," he began as he ate. "You have been ordered to rest, and so we thought it might be a good time to speak of the duties of the Warlord, and of the protocol for the celebration the day after tomorrow. Will you indulge us?"

"Of course," he answered. "I would not make a fool of myself, Narosén. I do, however, foresee being called to the fortress for a short time, but other than that, I am yours."

"Good," he said enthusiastically. "When you have finished, we will start with the seamstress, for your ceremonial attire…"

"Narosén, clothes were made for me in Imladris, special clothes that reflect my origins. I would like to wear those…"

"Then I suggest you bring them for they will need altering…"

"Why would they need altering?" asked Legolas, puzzled.

"Once your measurements have been taken, we should start with a history lesson; after that, I think perhaps you will understand," said the Spirit Herder kindly. "We will then speak of your duties, of how they can be coordinated with your service in the king's militia for there are requests you may need to make to your superiors…"

"Alright. I will ask Idhreno or Ram en' to retrieve the chest that lies in my rooms at the fortress."

Silence stretched between them then as they finished their breakfast, before Narosén spoke once more.

"You did well yesterday, Legolas. At the Halls of Healing our people speak of your concern for our warriors, how you took no rest until you had seen them all, until Amareth and Marhen dragged you away. These things, the small things, will make you great, Legolas."

Legolas looked back at the strange elf. "I did not do it because I am to be Warlord, Narosén; I did it because I have always done it," he said quietly.

"And that is why it had to be you, child…"


	64. Siblings

Author's notes:

OK, I'm not saying it, I'm not saying how many chapters are left!

This chapter is the longest yet, and you will find some tense scenes coming up. Please remember that the reasoning from one or another character is _their_ reasoning, the way _they_ see things, rather than what I, as an author, wish to imply. The true answers are there for each reader to find in his or her own way.

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Rita Orca: thank you :)) Love that it made your day.

Guest: almost full family reunion coming up - not quite there yet :)

Ninde: flores! gracias :))) veo que eres una romántica - ah! Pensaré en ti mientras escriba el capitulo de la ceremonia.

Guest 1345: Ah, there are more fluff lovers out there than I thought - so we need some angst to make up, right?

Noph: Danir is around, but not a major character. He may come into a sequel though, maybe as one of Elladan's warrior healers! Don't worry - this story means too much to me to finish it ahead of time - I will allow it to dictate when the right time to end it if finally here. For now, it continues.

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Chapter sixty four: Siblings

Legolas sat in Amareth's tent, alone for the first time that day and his mind wandered, thinking on the events of that morning.

Amareth and Marhen had fussed over him and he had let them, and he smiled as he remembered their soft scolding.

Later, Ram en' Ondo had arrived with his chest of belongings from the fortress, amongst them, the attire that had been designed for him in Imladris. The Silvan seamstress had beamed in satisfied delight, and claimed she would make only cursory additions for the work was near perfect, she had said in admiration - even the colour. She had then taken his measurements and all in all, it had been a surprisingly innocuous experience.

He could hear the woodland fiddles and flutes in the distance, rehearsing for tomorrow's event and for the first time perhaps, he got a sense of the magnitude of it all. There were hundreds of artists, most of them fiddlers, percussionists, singers and dancers and even the civilians were practising their most prized dances, the ones that had not been seen at the fortress for centuries.

The camp itself was filling out, with elves come from all of the forest dwellings of the Silvans, even the most remote, and other dignitaries were arriving at the fortress, making their way necessarily through the Silvan camp.

The buzz of excitement was thick, tangible almost, and a pang of anxiety slammed into him and he closed his eyes to steady himself.

"Legolas?" came the deep voice of Erthoron who was ducking into the tent, along with Narosén, Golloron and Lorthil, books in hand and scrolls dancing around in their arms.

He simply shook his head with a tense smile, and then moved over to the hearth to prepare tea. By the looks of things, they would be cooped up for the rest of the morning at least, and so, when the water was done, he turned and placed the pot upon the table and sat. He knew Narosén liked to pour tea and beg blessings, and so Legolas left the dark Silvan to his strange ways and set his eyes upon Erthoron, who he knew would be the first to speak.

But rather than speak, the Silvan leader opened a book and set it before Legolas, before opening another and doing the same. On both pages sat the illustration of the warlord and Legolas tried, and failed, to hide his shock. He had seen another illustration, the one that had been presented during the Permanent Council meeting, but this looked nothing like it.

"This," pointed Erthoron, "is the ceremonial attire of the Warlord, Legolas.

"You want me to look like _this_?" Erthoron I can't, I…"

"Legolas - what is the problem? It will suit you well, you must not be ashamed," said the elf kindly.

"It is not a question of being ashamed, Erthoron, I am _Silvan_ ," he said, as if that was enough explanation to prove his point, "but the Sindar are not accustomed, and I am the son of the king, I will it or not."

"Yes - but they are the minority, and we are the majority - why should we change our customs because a small part of society does not approve of them?"

Legolas held his tongue for a while so that he could get his head around what he was seeing.

"He," he poked at the page, "is not wearing breeches…"

"No - the Silvans never did, for many years…"

"You want me to dance in that? The reels and the jigs…?"

Golloron chuckled wildly, and then excused himself as he sipped on his hot tea.

"Our seamstress will make sure there are no surprises, Legolas. The point here," he said, resisting a smile himself, "is that the Warlord shows his strength in battle - his body and his attire are a statement of his purpose. This is reflected by showing the power of your legs, your arms, your chest.

"You want me to walk half-naked into Thranduil's nest of Sindarin snakes - I am already a half-breed bastard, do we really want them to add to the expletives?" he moaned.

It was Lorthil's turn to chuckle and he did not bother to hide it.

"It is not that bad, Legolas. They respect you, and most of them seem to be in favour of this - do not forget that."

Legolas knew that, for the Permanent Council had been almost unanimous in its vote and he was glad for Erthoron's reminder.

"And these boots?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the illustration before him, admiring the fine detail etched upon them in silver.

"You like the boots?" smirked Narosén.

"Yes," he answered defensively.

"We have been working on them for some time. A lot of work has gone into them Legolas, see here," he pointed, "they go past the knee and up to mid-thigh, so even though you are not wearing breeches, it will be nigh on impossible to see the flesh of your legs…"

"Well, Llyniel will be pleased…." he muttered.

"What?" asked Golloron.

"Nothing…" answered Legolas before allowing his eyes to move upwards, past the calf-length skirt of blue green that was slit up the centre to the knees. Over the skirt was an intricately worked over skirt of soft leather that protected the thighs, and as his eyes rose past the waist, his face was paling again.

"So all this is simply - silk?" he asked, his eyes squinting at the page

"Yes, wrapped silk - the tie here see, down one side," he explained and legolas' eyes followed the excess material down almost to the floor.

"This is where the Eternal Circle sits," he pointed at the spot between chest and shoulder, "and then here, your warrior bands."

"My arms are bear, then?"

"Not completely. See these vambraces, they have been conserved, a relic of our people. As of tomorrow they will be yours."

"They are beautiful," he mused, admiring the thin leather and metallic overlay that ran the entire length of the forearm and then ended in a point on the right hand but not on the left.

"Why this difference? he pointed.

"The vambrace on the right points to the ring of office, the Warlord's heirloom. That will be given to you tomorrow, at the ceremony."

Legolas breathed deeply as his eyes moved up to the elf's head and his hair.

"His head is covered in braids…"

Narosén sat forwards. "If you would allow, I would be honoured to do that for you, but I would explain, if I may?"

"Of course…"

"The lower braids will be thin and compact, tightly woven. They resemble the young roots of our future trees. On top of these, we weave thicker braids to symbolise the elder trees, sitting over the young saplings, protecting them. Finally, on top are the thicker braids, the roots of our mighty sentinels for their wisdom must transcend all, protect us all. To keep these braids in place, i will use wax, but the people will gift you with forest treasures tomorrow; river stones, dried flowers and vines - these will be woven into them as a sign of your service to us all. A part of each and every Silvan family will be represented by the Warlord for you are theirs and they are yours…"

Legolas looked down as the information sunk in. He had never imagined such depth of symbolism and he suddenly felt humbled, but then a doubt assailed him.

"I will not relinquish my Avarin locks, Narosén," he said, watching the Spirit Herder in apprehension.

"I have thought about that for you see, you, are different to any other Warlord we have had; you - are a protege. We add a fourth layer of being, over the roots of the Sentinels - your Avarin braids may symbolise the roots of the two trees, a testimony to your higher purpose. I would not leave you bereft of them, I know what they mean to you…"

He was utterly relieved for he would have refused outright had Narosén forbidden it.

"Weapons?" he asked

"Just a dagger - again, that is an heirloom I cannot show you until tomorrow."

"Alright - I will grin and bear it," he resolved and gulped at his tea. "This drawing is the everyday attire then?" he asked.

"Yes, but for now you have no need of this. You are a lieutenant in the king's army."

"Alright, so tell me, the duties I will be expected to carry out."

"You owe yourself to the military, and this we understand, indeed most of your work, as we see it, will be carried out during your service as a lieutenant, or Captain," began Erthoron. "You are our spokesperson, a figure to which any Silvan warrior may turn to, a figure that will stand up to the authorities in the face of injustice. In times of strife in the forest, the Silvan people would call upon you to represent them, as our military expert, to tell the army what we need and where we need it, and in times of war, you will be free to carry out your duties where best you see fit.

"That sounds practical, Erthoron, and doable, I think. It is important that there are no incompatibilities between this position and my military duties, yet there is still the question of my service to Yavanna."

"Have you thought on how to achieve it all without incurring in incompatibilities?" asked Lorthil.

"Not yet, but I still have five years. Once my training is complete, that is when I must sit once more and reevaluate my situation although I do have an idea, my friends."

"Then tell us, for even though it is not yet the time, we would pave the way, if it can be done," said Erthoron.

"My idea, once I am Captain, is to create my own patrol, The Company. Myself as its commander, Rafnohtar, Idhrenohtar, Ram en', Koron en', Rhrawthir, Lindohtar, Glamohtar… I would gain a kind of - itinerant - patrol, if you will, with a degree of freedom to serve where the forest requires it the most - to the South, I suppose."

"It would give you the freedom you need, yes…" said Lorthil.

"The question is that once I am promoted, I must gain the approval of the Inner Circle to do this - a newly trained Captain will be required to move around, get a feel of the forest in all its areas of strife and conflict - to grant me that freedom will be the key, I think."

Erthoron smiled as he poured more tea. "Soon, the Silvan people will matter once more, my friends, justice will be reclaimed for our people, for our warriors…"

"There is one matter that concerns me," said Legolas, leaning forward and catching their eyes meaningfully.

"The Permanent Council have agreed to the reinstatement of the Warlord but I do not believe we should flaunt our Silvanness before them too brazenly…"

"But this is our.."

"Let me finish, Lorthil. "Look at it from _their_ perspective. This is a concession for them - we do not want to thank them by doing what they have done to us over the past centuries. I believe," he said emphatically, "that we should flaunt our _forest_ , with all that that implies…"

"I don't understand," said Erthoron with a frown.

"Why did we finally rebel against the Sindar? Why did we demand the return of the Warlord? Because we felt our culture, our people were being repressed, belittled. By doing what we have, we return to the Silvan people their pride and their sense of belonging, and for that to endure, we must ensure the Sindar are on our side, that they do not rebel and feel their own culture threatened - that we do not start a cultural war. This land will be a better, safer place if we promote the strength of the forest, of the Silvan, Sindar and Avarin people - different and unique in their cultures but together as brothers, against the common enemy."

He held their stares, his eyes bright and wide, passion behind his words and in his expression. He truly believed what he said, and Narosén, unsurprisingly, was the first to comment.

"I agree - it is easy for us to claim this celebration as our own, as a triumph of the Silvan people, but the truth is that this is a nationwide event, one that affects us all. If we march in there as Silvans, bidding the Sindar behold us in all our glory, we will gain more enemies than allies."

"Precisely," continued Legolas. "What I propose, is for us, the Silvan people, to carry out our ceremony, to march to the fortress and yes - show the court who we are, show them our culture and our beliefs, our dances and our music, show them our greatness _and_ \- show them that we _embrace_ the Sindarin and Avarin cultures. I would have Koron en' Naur, a Sindarin warrior, bear their flag as we enter, and I would have Dorwon carry the Avarin flag. I want a Sindarin plait in my hair for I am half Sindarin, and the locks upon my crown will tell them my brother was Avarin. Do you see my point? he asked earnestly. "We need to show them we add our culture, as a marvellous addition to their own, Sindarin culture, show them we are stronger when we come together."

There was utter silence for long moments and Legolas let them think. He had spoken his mind and truth be told, should they disagree with him now, he would not back down. He knew he was right, there were no doubts in his mind.

"For an elf with no training in statesmanship, you are not bad at it at all," said Erthoron quietly. "It is easy to be blinded to the perspective of those that have ignored your own for so long - instinct almost. It irks me, but you are right. That they made that mistake centuries ago, does not mean the Silvans should make the same mistake. We are wise, and we have the benefit of hindsight. But make no mistake," he said as he leaned forward. "Tomorrow, we show them what they cast aside, we show them our might, our strength, that without us they cannot endure. We show them our art, our music and dance, our rites and our beliefs and by doing so we tell them, no _demand_ of them, that they ignore us no more, for we will not allow it. If you can promise me that, Legolas, then I will agree to your requests."

Legolas stared back at Erthoron, the elf who had been assigned as spokesperson for the Silvan people, along with Lorthil, but he wondered at his authority to command Legolas on this question. Wisely though, he chose to remain silent and simply nodded, but Narosén was perceptive indeed - he had not missed the hesitation.

"Well, I for one, do not see it as a concession in any way," said Golloron. It does not change our plans, and if we gain the favour of the Sindar by doing this, then that is in our benefit."

"Yes," said Legolas carefully, "but I happen to agree with it, Golloron. I truly believe what I say. We are one of three cultures - let us not threaten the others by imposing our own, over theirs for that will never work."

"No, no it would not," forgive me, he said.

Erthoron watched Legolas as he stood and moved to his pallet, in search of something, and then turned back to Lorthil, Golloron and Narosén, who returned his gaze with an intensity that was unnerving.

"I am taking a break, my friends. Is there anything else of import we must speak of?" he asked, not oblivious to the strange mood that had taken them.

"No, I believe we have discussed the essentials," said Erthoron quietly, and so, Legolas nodded to them, and then left the tent and the four quiet Silvans, still sitting at the paper-strewn table.

"He is right," said Narosén, "and he is no pawn, Erthoron. He is a leader, a natural one, and tomorrow, he will truly be one. Let us be his council, as he will be ours."

"I do not mean to command him, my friends, at least not in a bad way. I have, perhaps erred in that I overestimated the limitations of his age and inexperience. He is wiser than I expected him to be."

"He will represent us well, Erthoron," said Narosén with a smile now, however much his strange eyes burned with the fire of one who believes something passionately. "Tomorrow - everyone will want to be Silvan," he said as his eyes widened and his smile became a laugh.

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Legolas stood outside the tent that had been assigned to the Company, arms crossed and laughing as he watched Koron en' Naur teaching Ram en' Ondo one of the more stately Sindarin dances, and as they toiled, Rhawthir and Lindohtar were coaching a flustered Elladan and Melven on the finer points of Silvan reels.

 _"_ How are you going to impress your Silver Princess if you cannot dance a reel!' they exclaimed, and Legolas laughed again at the sour look on Elladan's face.

"Look, Hwindo here," said Lindo pointing towards the laughing Legolas, "is an expert on Silvan dances - _nobody!_ \- he shouted - dances a jig like he does!"

"Yes well, he is Silvan and I am _Noldo_ you stupid bard, I cannot get my legs to kick out like that so fast - I will make a fool of myself!" he moaned.

And on they went, practicing and laughing and moaning, and Legolas sat, retrieving his diary from his pack and rummaging for a moment for his charcoal. Staring at the next blank page, his head tilted slightly to one side and then he smiled. Raising his hand, he began to trace the lines of an elven woman. A stroke here, and then there, the fall of her hair and the shape of her jaw. The outline of her big blue eyes and the mischievous expression that ever resided behind them. When he had finished the simple drawing, he scribbled beneath it; Llyniel Aradaneth.

"That is the healer we met on our arrival," said Glamohtar from over his shoulder.

"Yes. I will ask her father to allow me to escort her, after the protocol is done with," he said.

"Oh? You fancy her then?" he asked blithely as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Legolas tilted his head up towards Glamohtar and then smiled, wide and naughty. "Oh yes," he said and Melven chuckled.

"Love is in the air," he smiled, and then walked back to the improvised dancing lesson.

A momentary lull in the noise, heralded the arrival of Handir, who nodded at Legolas.

"Brother," he smiled and Legolas stood, smiling back as he nodded respectfully.

"We were wondering if you would join us at the fortress - Maeneth is eager to meet you," he said lightly, his eyes lingering on his brother's and then slipping to his damaged cheek.

"I do not wish to intrude," said Legolas defensively as he put his diary away and turned back to Handir.

"You would hardly be intruding Legolas. The Princess has requested your presence, he said pointedly, you are a welcome guest.

"I hardly think Rinion would agree with you," he laughed humourlessly.

"You may be surprised," said Handir. "Come, make yourself presentable and join us. I will have you back before nightfall, else your Silvan brethren slit my throat for interfering with their plans," he smiled wryly.

"Oh? Have they said something then? he asked as he donned his green tunic and smoothed it down, and then collected his Avarin locks and secured them upon his head.

"Erthoron said simply that you were very busy- but his eyes said more," he snorted and Legolas smiled.

Taking only a dagger which he slipped into his belt, the two brothers left the Company, bound for the fortress.

"You are limping," stated Handir.

"Yes - just a bruise from yesterday.

"What happened?" he asked, slowing his pace.

"I tackled an archer, a new move I have not quite mastered. The landing was - _painful_ ," he scowled and then grinned.

"You best take care of it, otherwise you will miss out on all those Silvan jigs," he smiled and Legolas turned to look at his brother, searching his eyes in curiosity. "You are passing happy today," he said softly.

Handir smiled and then looked to the floor for a moment. "Yes, you could say that Legolas. The tragedy of our past is coming to an end. The wounds are closing and forgiveness is in the air. You started it, Maeneth will finish it I wager…"

Legolas smiled but it was a careful smile and Handir knew he did not quite believe him, or perhaps he was afraid to.

They were close to the main gates now, and soon they would be inside, and under the scrutiny of the Sindar once more.

"Handir, before we go in, a question if I may…"

"What is it?" he asked.

Legolas grinned. "I have struck up a - friendship - with a healer, Llyniel."

"Aradan's daughter?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes. It is nothing serious, brother, just a little harmless - flirting," he scowled and Handir grinned. "The question is, I asked her to accompany me for the celebration. She told me to ask her father…"

"Then ask him, Legolas. He is a good man, married to a noble Silvan lady who has been rooting for you from the beginning - she will be ecstatic - she will not allow Aradan to refuse, believe me," he said slyly and Legolas smiled.

"Good, very good," he said, and then straightened his back and pretended his hip did not ache at all. Handir watched him and then shook his head fondly.

The doors to Thranduil's private chambers opened, revealing the King, together with Mithrandir, Glorfindel and Aradan himself.

"Ah, Legolas," said Thranduil, standing. "How are you? I heard you took a fall…"

"Oh ah, of a sort, my King, 'tis nothing at all," he smiled and Thranduil's left eyebrow rose in disbelief. He said nothing though and allowed Glorfindel a moment to greet his son.

"Glorfindel, he smiled genuinely and the golden warrior smiled back, and then scowled. "You are always getting smashed in the face, he tutted, and Handir snorted. "He reckons it's because everyone is jealous of his good looks," he chuckled and Mithrandir guffawed. "Modest, aren't we!" he grinned.

"How are the preparations going, Lord Legolas," asked Aradan.

"Well, my Lord. Everything is ready, it is all done," he said more quietly now.

"Rinion and Maeneth are in the Royal gardens, Handir, perhaps you would take Legolas and join them?"

"Of course father," replied Handir, turning to Legolas, his eyes momentarily slipping to Aradan.

"Ah, yes eh, Lord Aradan, I was wondering," began Legolas.

"Yes, my Lord?" asked Aradan in curiosity.

"I was wondering if you would allow me to - to escort your daughter Llyniel for the celebrations?"

There was a thick silence and Legolas felt like hiding his head behind his hands; but he was a warrior, he would not do that.

Both Thranduil's eyebrows rose this time, and Glorfindel beamed proudly at his adoptive son.

"As your - _companion_ ," asked Aradan.

"Yes - once the protocol is over - for the feasting and the dancing."

"Well, it is most correct of you to ask me. It is proper of course, and as her mother is Silvan, she will want to consent before I can allow it. I will send word, my Lord."

Legolas was disappointed that he had not given his permission outright, but he understood and so he simply nodded. It was the Silvan way to ask both parents for consent.

"I thank you though, for your regard. It is a great honour," he added and Legolas stared dumbfounded for a moment, before smiling and nodding once more.

"The Court will be in an uproar; four royal children - all eligible - it promises to be an interesting evening," said Mithrandir.

The two brothers shared a mischievous glance, and then took their leave, bound for the gardens, and once they had left, Thranduil turned to his guests.

"It is now or never, my friends…"

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"I still cannot believe it, Rinion. Bandorion is _dead…_." she whispered as she walked beside her brother in the Royal Gardens.

"I always wondered," began Rinion carefully, "how much you were aware of when it happened, when you were sent away, I mean."

"I was glad of it, Rinion, even though it ripped me from your side. You were angry, so very bitter, father was absent and Handir seemed oblivious, and as for Bandorion, he frightened me, brother, and I know he frightened mother too. But that is all I know."

Rinion nodded, taking the time to look around him, notice the details he had not bothered to see in many years. He had slept so very deeply the previous night, as if he had been injured and was convalescing and this morning, he had woken with a levity he could no longer remember having felt.

"He broke, Maeneth, his mind shattered and he lost himself in madness. You should have seen him, for he raved and he screamed for Baudh Gwaith. Poor Legolas did not know what he was letting himself in for, even though father warned him he did not have to accept."

"He did not listen to his warning?"

"No - but can you blame him? Bandorion murdered his mother, Maeneth. He taunted the boy with what he had done, called her slut before the entire court. He did what I myself would have done and even then, at the end, he hesitated."

"He has a good heart…"

"He saw himself in Barathon, I think, for he was there, watching. It was father that forced his hand and I for one, am glad that he did."

"I believe the days of Baudh Gwaith should end, Rinion. What then, is justice for if we do not apply it in all circumstances, equally for everyone?"

"Perhaps," conceded Rinion. But as with any law, until it is abolished it must be upheld, and if Baudh Gwaith is declared, the rule is to give death to the loser. Bandorion knew this and played his hand."

"I understand that brother, and even had it not been declared, Legolas - and father, had many good reasons to do what they did. Even so, I will request that the law be discussed by the Permanent Council, perhaps Handir will bring it to them…"

"You have been back for one day and you are already planning and scheming," smiled Rinion proudly.

"I must earn my position, Rinion. Every day I am called Princess, I must earn that right, as must we all," she said seriously and Rinion considered her words quietly.

"Speaking of Legolas," said Maeneth, "yesterday must have been hard for him, watching from the sidelines as his family was reunited."

"I know. You will like him, I think," said Rinion, almost as an afterthought .

"And you do not?" she asked gently.

"I have not - but- for the wrong reasons, sister. I did to him what I did to father. I vented my bitterness, my hatred upon him. Every day I thought of him or saw him, was another day I was reminded of mother's departure, of your departure, of my loneliness, my grief - my _weakness_ ," he spat.

"That is the source, isn't it, brother? Your suffering you see as weakness and it angers you and so, you find a way to vent that anger, a satisfying way and the only way to do that, is to provoke those that love you, or that look up to you because that way - you can see the hurt in _their_ eyes, and not your own… It is a way for you to remember that you are not the only one to suffer…"

Rinion stared back at her with wide eyes. How she could know him so well was beyond him; she was perceptive and intuitive beyond any elf he knew, save for his father, in spite of her tender age. His mind rebelled against what she had said; it surely could not be true and yet, it felt true and he no longer had the strength to fight against it.

"Yes - I believe that is the short of it," he murmured.

"You are strong, Rinion, you always have been, and to feel - to really _feel,_ is not weakness, it is strength for in the depth of that emotion, comes passion for life, vocation to service, a true desire to make a difference to our people, to our land…"

"Yes - perhaps," he considered, and then he turned with a determined glint in his eye. "I must speak to the child, Maeneth, but I do not want to make the same mistakes - stay with me when I do, keep me on the right path?"

"I will, brother, I always will."

Rinion smiled and relaxed a little, but he was tense again as he spotted his two brothers approaching them. Instead of standing, Rinion gestured for them to join them upon the well-kept grass where they sat, close to a rose bush with no roses.

"Legolas, the Silvan, Hwindohtar, Warlord - whatever do I call you?" asked Maeneth with a smile as her eyes roved over his face.

"Whatever you wish, my Lady."

"You could just call him ' _fool'_ like Rinion does," smirked Handir.

"Rinion calls everyone _'fool'_ Handir," she said before turning to Legolas once more. "Just call me Maeneth, Legolas."

She was watching him closely, too closely for comfort but then she watched him too, and truth be told, Rinion was glad of it, she would keep him focussed, she had promised.

"I have heard much spoken of you," she began. "Most of it good," she added.

"Most of it?" echoed Legolas.

"There are those here at court, the minority mind you, who do not approve of your presence - but this you already knew, of course."

"Yes - I knew, Maeneth. I do not think that will easily change. Perhaps I may temper it, prove myself to them and in time, perhaps I will at least, gain their respect."

"Oh I think you have their respect already, Legolas. It is not as bad as you may think, at least that is the impression I get. Barathon, however, may be difficult, indeed his fate is, as yet undecided."

Legolas' face paled a little at the mention of Barathon, and Rinion was reminded of that tragic moment, one he had not consciously analysed at the time albeit his brain had registered the images. It had been panic he had seen on his brother's face as his hand hovered over his great uncle's heart, eyes focussed on Barathon, panic because he had hesitated, because he had been unsure of the justice of his actions.

"I have heard all about the Baudh Gwaith, Legolas. I do not judge you harshly - but Barathon surely will, said Maeneth softly.

"He was placed under house arrest - what will happen to him?" asked Legolas.

"Father will speak to him," said Rinion. "Find out his intentions, his attitude and then he may call council to decide on his future, decide whether or not he should be tried for conspiracy to commit treason - 'tis a serious offence."

"Has he not suffered enough?" asked Legolas. "He lost his father - I killed him before his very eyes."

"Yes you did," said Rinion. "But remember, Bandorion threatened to kill you, and should Barathon do the same, there will be no mercy for him, Baudh Gwaith or no. Now if you were to ask me what I would choose for him, then I would say that if he is repentant, that he should be given the chance to redeem himself. But if he persists in his prejudice against you, I say exile."

Legolas seemed surprised with Rinion's reasoning, pleasantly so and he nodded his agreement.

"You are surprised," asked Handir as he watched the oldest and youngest amongst them.

"Yes," said Legolas carefully. "Yes I am surprised. I thought you would be more - vehement in your judgement of Barathon."

"I probably would have been, had you asked me just yesterday, or the day before…"

"What has changed?" asked Legolas with a frown.

"Everything," he said with a smile.

Legolas scowled but Rinion did not elaborate and silence ensued.

Stretching his leg out in front of him, he could not hide a wince, and surprisingly, it was Rinion who caught it.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"It is nothing."

"Are you hurt?" he asked again, as if Legolas had not spoken.

Visibly peeved, Legolas answered him with a scowl. "Yes," he said flatly.

"And why did you not say, you _fool_?" he said

"Because I did not _want_ to," answered Legolas with a clench of his jaw.

"You are too proud for your own good," said Rinion.

" _Me?_ And you, in the same situation, would have proclaimed to the four corners of _Arda_ that you were injured?"

Rinion stared back at Legolas as if he were seeing him for the first time, and Maeneth smiled triumphantly.

"No, no I would not - but we are amongst brothers here…"

" _Are_ we?" asked Legolas sarcastically. "Just yesterday you bid me call you _Prince_ or _Lieutenant_ , and to call Maeneth _Princess_ \- what would you have me think, my Prince?" asked Legolas, exasperation getting the better of him. "The only one here who I know how to talk with, is Handir. I call him Prince when in the company of others, Handir with friends, and brother when we are alone - for that is what he is to me now, but you - you have done nothing but antagonise, patronise, scoff and mock and you say we are _brothers_?"

He moved to stand, but his hip cramped and he groaned, his angry words dying on his tongue.

Slowly straightening himself, he felt Rinion stand beside him, a cool hand on his forearm.

With a deep breath, Legolas tried to centre himself. "I do not wish to argue with you, Rinion. I was asked here to meet Maeneth, and it is my pleasure to do so, but you I do not understand."

"Legolas," said Rinion, "I did not understand myself, until yesterday…"

Legolas frowned. "No one changes in but a day, Rinion."

"I did not change - I _realised,_ I _understood_."

Legolas did not speak, he just looked at his brother, clearly expecting him to continue, and he did.

Rinion sighed and turned so that he could pace as he spoke. He was not accustomed to admitting fault and yet it had to be done. To ignore this would be to perpetuate the antagonism and that was clearly out of the question.

"You saved Handir's life, even unto the death of your dearest friend," he began patiently, "and then just yesterday, you saved mine for no one except you would have reached that orc in time. I asked you to prove yourself to me and you did."

"Tell me, Rinion," asked Legolas, "why would you have me prove myself to you? For if that were truly necessary, then would not the opposite also be true, that you should prove yourself to me? You speak as if there is a debt between us - one I should pay. But let me guess," he said sarcastically, "you think perhaps that it is _my_ fault or that it was my _mother's_ fault that you were left alone, without your own mother, your sister… "

"Of course it was her fault…"

"It was _not!_ You cannot command love, Rinion - I do not think you understand it because you do not love - you are cold and incapable of it."

Handir made to speak but Maeneth stopped him with a shake of her head. "Listen," she whispered, "and understand." Handir held her eyes, seemingly unsure of the wisdom of it, but he nodded his consent all the same.

Rinion's face hardened and his eyes glittered dangerously. "You truly are a fool then, for I _have_ loved. I loved my mother and I love my sister and my brother - they know this," he shouted as he pointed at them. "You are the only fool who cannot see it."

"I cannot see it because you do not _allow_ me to … you hide your feelings from me and yet you expect me to understand them? Who is the _idiot_? You blame my mother for all your hurts, and every time you look at me I remind you, don't I? You think that if you scorn me you scorn the one you think ruined your life."

"That much is true, yes. But make no mistakes - _Lassiel_ \- was wrong to pursue my father after he was wed and she was wrong to conceive a child under those circumstances - she is no innocent."

Legolas' nostril's flared and his eyes slanted dangerously. "You simply do not get it - you speak as if she had a _choice!_ As if she could just push her love for our father away because that was her duty - it doesn't work that way, damn you. And even if it did, then our father would have been equally at fault. But tell me, Rinion - how do you allow half of your soul to die? simply allow it to slip away because that is your _duty!_ It cannot be done yet you cannot see it!"

"You are young, you do…"

"Listen to my _arguments,_ Rinion, do not use my age against me. Duty, you say - then for the sake of understanding, let us follow your line of reasoning…. _Oropher_ -"

"Do not bring him into this…"

"He is already in it - necessarily - that is where it started Rinion. He denied our father the love he chose, because some scheming Sindas decided he should marry a Sindarin noble - who? _who?!_ do you think would benefit from that? _Answer_ me!" he shouted and Rinion's eyes widened, yet he did not speak.

"I will answer that for you. Your mother, your _mother's_ family…"

Maeneth and Handir stood abruptly, seeing the look in their brother's eyes…

"Don't…" warned Rinion quietly.

"They schemed and they planned and they did it so well even our mighty King Oropher was fooled into believing that my mother was a _whore!_ " he spat, his wrath rising with word.

A resounding slap echoed between them and Legolas slowly, brought himself to stand straight once more. His green eyes glittered as they bored into Rinion's stubborn, rigid face, a face that soon turned red as he gasped, the wind knocked out of him as he doubled forward and Legolas stood back to watch in satisfaction.

"Now tell me about _duty_ , Rinion? What was the king's duty then? To assume the lies were simply nonsense, or to believe them and ruin his son's life… what should he have chosen, Rinion?"

"He chose well," began Rinion, his voice still unsteady, "and even if he doubted he would not have been able to prove it. The people would not have listened…"

"What people? The Sindar? Less than a quarter of our population would not have approved, and the entire _forest_ would have _rejoiced_ …. what was his duty, Rinion? To keep his people content, or to keep his _Sindarin_ people content?

Rinion stood rigid, bristling and yet, no words left him, he could not refute his brother's words.

"You blame my mother for this mess, and I blame our grandfather."

"You are good at seeking the blame - have you tried to understand?"

"Of course I have."

"Then try this. Take yourself back to a time, long ago, when the Sindar had only just arrived, when the kingdom was newly constituted. Decisions were made, society was organised and legislated and the game for power would have been brutal. The Silvan people were fragmented, living in villages that ruled themselves. They had no nobles, no rulers. Enter Oropher and his Crown Prince Thranduil, who has found for himself a Silvan lover… _'nay'_ says Oropher but his son insists and so he accedes - only to find that his recently constituted Council says _'nay'_ \- do you follow me so far?"

"Yes…"

"Now, they say _'nay'_ and they say - ' _careful, Oropher, for we have accepted you as king, but so too do we have the power to take that privilege away._ Of course the king may say that he would do anything for the happiness of his son but what if he had relinquished his title then, so that his son could marry the elf he loved? In the hands of _whom_ , would he have left the realm? Do you see my meaning, Legolas…"

"Bandorion, you speak of Bandorion…"

"Yes," said Rinion triumphantly, I speak of Bandorion for you see even then, Oropher would know his brother well, would not have left the kingdom in his hands, not even for the happiness of his own son…"

Legolas blinked and looked to the floor.

"He was blackmailed …"

"Oh yes," said Rinion, "the battle for power would have been an ugly thing; Bandorion's moment was back then and he saw his chance. Oropher never had a choice, Legolas, he did not choose to ruin his son's life - Bandorion did that for him."

"I never realised it would have been like that, I thought Oropher was exalted, unquestioned…"

"He was, later when everything slipped into place and he proved himself as a great king."

"Glorfindel told me as much. He said that if Oropher had done what he had, there must have been a very good reason for it… but all this goes to prove my point - it was not my mother that sent yours away."

"Alright, I can concede that much, just as you have conceded that it was not Oropher either…"

Some of the tension left Legolas and he turned back to Rinion. "It is so convoluted, so tangled and so tragic," he whispered finally and Rinion nodded his agreement.

"In this I know I have been unfair, Legolas. I have always vented my anger on you for it was easy - to hate you - to believe your mother and your very existence were the bane of mine, indeed I just defended that very same argument not minutes past," he admitted with a guilty glance at his sister. "I know that is not the case. You have already proved yourself to me, and now, perhaps, it is time for me to do the same. I do not say today or tomorrow - but for now, you do have another brother, if you want him."

Legolas stared, shocked and struck utterly dumb, the fight fast leaving him. Covering the last few steps that separated from his elder brother, his eyes latched on to the icy blue irises that stared back at him openly, for the first time. Legolas would ponder that moment later, for that simple moment of unguarded emotion from his elder brother seemed to unlock a door in his own mind, where all his younger life had been tucked away, safe from the judgement of others - it was time to unlock it, he realised.

"I - I have spent most of my life hating the father I never knew," he said softly. Turning away from Rinion, and sinking back down onto the lawn beside Handir and Maeneth, knowing that Rinion followed suit.

"No one would tell me of him, not even to assure me that he had been a good elf. My conclusion, child that I was, was that he was dead, and that some dreadful family shame surrounded him - an exile perhaps. I chose to believe he had died in shame for the alternative was too terrible - that he had simply left me behind, that he had not cared. And so I spent the rest of my childhood defending myself against the cruelty of others.

A soft hand stroked his cheek but he would not look at the elf sitting beside him, for if he did he would surely lose his nerve and speak no more.

"I was Silvan, in every way, but I knew my father must have been a Sinda, for so said my face, the colour of my hair…"

"Tell us, Legolas, help us to understand…" pleaded Maeneth.

He heard her, but again he did not acknowledge the fact, for his mind had started down a path there would be no returning from - it would not be distracted.

"I told myself that he was Sinda, that he was dead, and that he had erred in some way, and every time someone called me a Sinda, I would be angry and correct them. 'I am _Silvan_ ,' I would say and then watch as they laughed," he said with a frown, as if he still could not believe the cruelty.

"I told myself I no longer cared, that I had no father, no family save for my aunt, Amareth, but therein began my delusion. None of it mattered, I was strong, I did not _need_ a father, did not need a family…

And then one day, Lainion told me the truth and I was devastated. I could not believe it, the only thing I kept repeating was that it could not be, for my father was dead… and yet Lainion told me he lived, that he was a king - _my_ king…

I had two brothers and a sister… _siblings!_ yet I knew I would never truly have them for they were princes and I was a bastard - they would not want me in their lives. But then Handir came," he said softly as he smiled, "and I started to believe I had been wrong - that there _was_ a family that perhaps - over time - I could call my own.

It was a _dream_ ," he said passionately, his bright eyes looking at his siblings, pleading with them to understand. "I could never have imagined that I would one day call another elf 'brother, sister, father…'

"And then I spoiled it…." said Rinion flatly.

"Not spoiled, Rinion, for I already had Handir, and our father had shown his willingness to accept me, but this is the reason that you irritated me so - the reason I resented you so much was because you _mattered_ to me… and yet I did not matter to you. I only ever had one dream in my life, I wanted to be a Captain," he smiled through his unshed tears, and then, just one year ago another dream began to haunt me - I wanted a _family_ … to be a bastard no more…to feel proud of who I was."

Maeneth dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief and Handir sniffled.

"And you have that now, brother," said Rinion. It starts today, if we want it to. I do not say you and I will not argue, for I am sure we will," he smiled, "but we will be siblings, we will make it work. And, after five years, you will be a Captain, with a family, and then - you will need more dreams for yours will already be reality."

Legolas' eyes were too full and one tear escaped him for Rinion's words rang so true, had touched his raw heart and he swiped angrily at it.

"You do not know how lucky you are," he smiled. "To have grown with a mother, a father, brothers and sisters - that rock, that solid ground beneath your young feet that later you use to project yourself into the world. That warm, comforting place to return to … it is a blessing…"

Rinion stared at the warrior before him, his little brother - the brave, courageous warrior that all children wanted to be - kneeling now with tears in his eyes - no, he was not weak for it was just as Maeneth had said, to feel so deeply was, indeed, the root of Legolas' strength.

"And what of our father," said Handir, snapping Rinion out of his own thoughts. "Are you at peace with him, Legolas?"

"Not entirely, Handir. There is an unfinished conversation between us, one that we cannot have until I have found the answers I now seek."

"Oh?" asked Rinion. "What questions?"

"I must know my mother, understand her, learn exactly what happened that day in the forest. I will travel there soon, after the festivities and when I return, I will speak with our father."

A servant entered the garden and was now depositing fresh lemonade upon a nearby stone table. With a bow, he left them alone once more, and Handir was already pouring four glasses. Rinion frowned and then looked up at the balcony that was his father's, and there he was, Thranduil king, staring down upon the four siblings from afar.

Legolas stood and repressed a wince as he rubbed his hip and walked around a little. "Elladan is going to kill me," he muttered.

"Your friendship with him is remarkable," said Handir. "Even in Imladris when you had only just met, there was an affinity between you."

"Yes," smiled Legolas. "There are friendships that go down in history - Glorfindel and Oropher, Beleg and —-, Legolas and Elladan," he grinned.

"Drink, brothers," said Rinion as he handed them their glasses, "for today is one I shall always remember. I gained a fool, Silvan brother," he smiled, and then drank, while the others followed suit with a roll of their eyes.

"Why do these flowers not bloom?" asked Legolas, gesturing towards the fruitless leaves of a rose bush, and his siblings were silent once more, their eyes moving between each other. It was Handir, though, who finally spoke.

"Those are Aglareb's roses, Legolas. They do not bloom," said Handir sadly.

Legolas heard the pain behind Handir's words and he wondered what would happen should he approach them. He was reminded of the sentinel in Elrond's own gardens, remembered how he had lost himself in the pain it had harboured, and how he had lost control… but he rather thought that now, perhaps he would be able to control it - knowing what he did.

Tomorrow, perhaps, when the ceremony was over, and probably best before the Silvan revelry began, he snorted to himself, he would put himself to the test, and if he passed, he would gift his sister with a single, perfect rose.


	65. The Silvan Side

Author's notes:

OK, I know, I made you wait this time. With so little of the story left, I just don't want to leave anything unaddressed, at least nothing that cannot be written about later on.

The celebration will be in two parts - hurrah! Here is the first, which I hope you enjoy. There was, potentially, so much to write about here, but in the end, I opted for simplicity, as one reader recently suggested. I hope it works.

On a different note, I have set up a Facebook profile which you might want to look at, so why not pop over and say hello! Just look for Numruzir Fanfiction - oh, and you get to see the book covers for The Silvan and The Wild Ones - hope you like them! I am also uploading the beta'd version of The Silvan and The Wild Ones on Wattpad which you might want to take a look at, so a massive thanks to SparkyTAS for all her hard work - ah, and if you feel like leaving a vote there, or even a comment, well that would be the cherry on the cake as they say in Spanish :)

Chapter 65: The Silvan Side

The people smiled, warriors saluted, and children squealed in delight as he passed, and Legolas couldn't remember a time in which he had been happier. He was at peace with Amareth, had gained a great aunt in Marhen who was fast becoming a rock in his life. He had another brother, Rinion, and a beautiful, wise sister in Maeneth; there was also the promise of a friendship with Llyniel, whose father had finally sent word of his consent that very same morning.

There was only one thing left for him to do now. Seek the tree of his birth and learn what he may, for if there were indeed, more answers to be had, only there would he find them. Once he had seen it done, he would return to the fortress and speak with his father at last, close the wound that had stood open since he had been old enough to have conscience of himself. It would mark the end of the mystery that his life had been, complete his story, give to him a past he had never had, and had always feared.

He had escaped Narosén, Amareth and Marhen, and had taken himself to the river to bathe, for he had wanted just a few moments to himself, to think and to centre himself. His stomach churned at the thought of the day's events - and the evening that would follow for it would be full of pomp and protocol. It was not that he did not understand it, but he had always imagined himself on the observing end of it, for Legolas was a warrior, not a prince.

And yet with today's ceremony, he realised he would, paradoxically, become freer than he had been these past few weeks. He would be Warlord, and, after a brief visit into the deep forest, he would return to his duties under the guidance of Captain Duronel. Five years - it would lend him five years of relative calm in which to learn and prepare and after that… well, time would tell, he mused, for to see past that moment was nigh on impossible for him.

His mind sharpened, back in the present once more and he watched as giggling young ladies waved at him and then laughed and ran, their innocence bringing a smile to his face for the first time that morning. Children and young lads climbed the trees, hanging all manner of decorations upon their branches, and not one seemed to have been left without a coloured glass lantern which would later give them soft light in which to dance and to kiss.

They too, poked their heads around the thick tree limbs and smiled at him as he passed. They did it for him, for their families and their people, for their warriors - they felt important once more, proud of who they were and Legolas quickened his step for who was he to deny them this moment?

His self-indulgent thoughts disappeared as quickly as they had invaded him. This was his duty, to bring the forest together - he would not let them down - he would not let himself down. He would do as Lainion and Handir has asked of him. He would shine - for _them_.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

The fortress was akin to a beehive, buzzing with tempered excitement and frenetic activity. Elves scurried here and there, carrying boxes and bags, chests and scrolls, and even now, the Great Hall was still being decked for the occasion. Standards hung from the vaulted ceilings, the noble houses of the Sindar represented proudly upon thick velvet and golden inlay, relics of the elder days when heroes still existed, when the people still believed in them.

Only sturdy, wooden shutters separated the Great Hall from the Great Plateau that jutted out majestically, high above the Evergreen Wood, hidden treasure of Thranduil's realm. Those shutters stood wide open now, for the first time in many centuries for the king had ordered that their secret be shielded no more, for such beauty, he had said, should never been hidden away.

Upon the rocky outcrop, Lanterns had been placed around the perimeter, and the trees that grew there had been adorned in the Silvan fashion, with ribbons and flowers, stones and feathers, and below them, nestled between the roots, there were plush cushions where guests could sit more informally and still here the music from within, indeed it was here that the party would, predictably come to its end - just as predictable as the fact that once the celebration had finished at the fortress, it would continue back at the Silvan camp - of that, there could be no doubt in anyone's mind, least of all in Thranduil's. He still remembered the parties he had once been at liberty to enjoy, with Lassiel's arm in his - when spite and power had not yet stepped between them and ruined it all.

"Good morning, my King," called Aradan, coming to stand at Thranduil's shoulder, his eyes following his friend's as they gazed upon the flags.

"It looks magnificent," mused the Chief Councillor, proud memories dancing in his eyes. "Long has it been since we allowed ourselves to remember the past…." he said softly and Thranduil turned to look at his friend.

"Not the past, Aradan. Tonight, everything will change - past will become present, and the present will become our future - there is something in the air - something light and good…"

Aradan frowned. "You wax philosophical this morning…"

"Perhaps," agreed Thranduil. "Perhaps it is just me, my own hopes for what is to come of all this."

"Perhaps," murmured Aradan, but the king saw his hesitation and there was no need for further comment and so he smiled and continued his slow walk through the caverns, Aradan at his side.

"And what of Llyniel?" smiled the king, "is she fretting over her attire?"

"Llyniel? No! It is my _wife_ who has become nigh on impossible, Thranduil - you have no idea!" he said, his voice now louder, his irritation making the king laugh harder.

"Oh precious," he said, but then he sobered. "Have we been so remiss, Aradan? Have we truly pushed them so far? They seem so very - needy - as if they scream at us to listen, to behold what we have carelessly ignored for too long."

"Perhaps," said the Councillor. "I just hope they do not take unkindly to all our Sindarin pomp, that they do not feel we are competing with their moment, their celebration."

"Why do you say that?"

"It is what some say, Thranduil. That we should just allow them to simply be Silvan - to respect their moment of glory, enjoy it if we can."

"And what do the others say?" he asked.

"That this is a celebration for us all, for the realm, not just for the races that constitute it."

The king smiled. "Then there are still some of us wise enough to see it for what it is."

"Yes. Let us trust that peace will prevail, that no one overstep their boundaries, and that this rift between us does not inadvertently widen."

The king nodded, and then spotted Elladan who was walking towards them.

"My king," bowed Elladan formally.

"Elrondion. What brings you to the fortress" he asked.

"I am searching for Lord Glorfindel, but I also bring this, from Lord Legolas, for your daughter, Lord Aradan," he said with a smile.

"Ah - she was right…" muttered Aradan, taking a hand to his head.

"What was that?" asked Thranduil with an innocent smile on his face.

"Miren, my wife," he began. "She swore that Lord Legolas would gift her daughter with a Silvan Crown. She says all good, Silvan lads would do no less."

Elladan held back his bubbling laughter, trying to imagine his friend as a 'good Silvan boy,'

"Lord Elladan?" asked the King ironically, but before he could answer, Maeneth and Rinion appeared and the Noldo froze where he stood, his eyes latching onto the princess' light blue eyes. He wanted to look away for he would surely be called to account, but he could not and panic clambered at the edges of his mind.

"Rinion, Maeneth," greeted the king, while Aradan bowed but Elladan simply stood, and he stared, and Rinion's nostril's flared in irritation. The prince seemed to be on the verge of berating him, but his mouth snapped shut for he had surely realised by now, that it was not only Elladan who stared; Maeneth held that wise grey gaze with her own, frosty blue eyes.

Rinion tried once more to get his mouth working, managing an 'o' shape but again, he closed it and frowned, his eyes slipping pleadingly to those of his father, who's left eyebrow was acutely arched.

"Lord Elladan, please meet Princess Maeneth," said Aradan, fighting a knowing smile and only just managing it.

"Eh, ah, my Lady," stuttered Elladan, bowing low and then rising slowly, watching as she curtseyed elegantly and then smiled. A warm, fuzzy feeling encased his chest and he was lost again, only faintly registering her deep, soft voice.

"I am a very good friend of your sister, Lady Arwen," she said.

"Arwen - ah yes-," said Elladan with a frown. He was making an ass of himself he knew, but he could not get his body to cooperate with his mind - he was babbling and he needed to get away lest she take him for an utter fool.

"Forgive me, my Lords, but I have an appointment with Lord Glorfindel. Princess Maeneth, I will see you at the celebrations this evening?" he asked.

"Of course, my Lord. Perhaps we will speak later then," she said, and whether it was his imagination he could not say, but was there, perhaps, an invitation in that tone? he wondered…

With a bow, he ripped himself away, his mind churning and the cogs of his mind whirling into action. Oh he would speak with her - and more if it was to be had - if only he could get his clumsy feet around that dance the Silvans had been trying to teach him. Well, at least the Sindarin dances were similar to the Noldorin ones- he could, perhaps, gain some points for himself there…

With a wicked smile, he left in search of Glorfindel.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

The seamstress stood back, and then walked around him, tugging here and there at the blue-green silk of the stunning skirt until the fall was perfect, long at the back, shorter at the front. She reached for the leather overlay, opening the buckle and passing one half to Marhen and then bringing the pieces together at the front and fastening the ornate clasp around his corded abdomen. Flaps of highly decorated brown leather fell over his powerful thighs to the front and back, the silver craftsmanship swirling around the edges, flaring as orange light hit it, bringing the forest pattern alive, as if it moved of its on accord.

The same silk that had been used for his skirt was now wrapped around his chest, almost as if it were a bandage, binding one shoulder and his chest, down to the waist, where it was wrapped twice, and then tied at the side, the silk falling almost to the ground.

It was Marhen who stepped back now, fiddling with the fabric, pulling at the puckers while the seamstress arranged the tie, and Narosén remained completely engrossed in his braiding.

Next, Legolas stepped into the boots that were held out before him, and then pulled on the tops, his foot slipping easily yet snuggly into the exquisitely worked leather. They reached past the top of his skirt, just as Narosén had said they would, and this, together with the fact that the fabric fit tightly over his muscled thighs, he finally relaxed - there would be no mishaps, even with _his_ dancing.

"Would you sit please, Legolas," asked Narosén. It was time to weave the last braids, the Avarin ones, and then arrange them in the way he had seen them in his dream.

Taking hold of a thick lock of hair, he began to twist and work, and then waxed the ending, before moving on to the next, and the next, until they were done and hanging loosely around his head.

"Narosén," asked Legolas softly. "Are my braids to be left down like this?" he asked. I could poke an eye out should I dance a hornpipe, perhaps even strangle myself …"

"Some, the first two layers will be loose, but the third and fourth layers must be arranged - I still have much work to do, Legolas," said the Spirit Herder. His voice sounded distant and his eyes were somewhat unfocussed as he worked, and Legolas suspected he was in a state of semi-mediation, or whatever the Spirit Herders called it.

Cold metal on his right arm told him Marhen placed a Master warrior bracelet there, and then another, and then the warm hug of leather encased a forearm and he looked down, onto the most exquisite vambraces he had ever seen.

And still, Narosén braided…

And so, Legolas allowed his mind to wander and so it did - to the one thing that still worried him about this celebration. If this was to mark the beginning of unity, he needed to make them see that only by accepting the Sindar, could the Silvan people regain their status in the Greenwood - he needed to make them see that tonight was not about flag-waving and chauvinism, but about love and brotherhood. He would need to find a moment in which to speak to them all, he realised, and although the thought sent a pang of anxiety through him, he could see no other way.

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Afternoon turned to early evening, and Amareth's tent was surrounded by elves decked in their finest attire. Bright colours of shimmering material, open necked tunics and shiny boots, loose hair and crowns of woodland flowers - these were the civilians, the good people of the Greenwood.

Further away, the musicians stood in their black leggings and tunics, hair tightly braided away from their faces, and in their hands were their beloved instruments; violins and violas, bases and lyres, flutes and whistles, bells and of course, the mighty woodland drums.

The dancers too, stood in muted conversation as they passed between the elves, handing out metallic studs they would use to perform some of the dances, and even the warriors, their uniforms clean and bright, stuck them into the heels and tips of their military boots.

Elladan frowned as he watched them, turning to Rhrawthir for an explanation.

"When they step upon the stone and wood of the fortress, they will make a commanding sound…"

"And?" asked Elladan, still completely oblivious to his meaning, Glamohtar leaning in to hear what Fierce Face had to say about it.

"You will see, Rafno - here," he said, offering studs to him and Melven and showing them where to place them.

Obediently they stuck them in, and then looked back at Rhawthir suspiciously, before sharing an apprehensive glance at his Noldorin brother.

More and more elves were gathering around the tent now, for the sun was disappearing below the horizon and their own, Silvan ceremony would soon begin.

A sudden hush fell over them, for Golloron, the Spirit Herder had appeared and the elves stepped back to make a path for him. Rhrawthir, Lindohtar, Ram en' Ondo and Idhrenohtar bowed in awe as he passed, while the Sinda Koron en' Naur and the Noldor Rafnohtar and Glamohtar stared open-mouthed at the transformed mystic.

He floated past them as a blind man would, his staff thudding upon the loamy ground until he disappeared into the tent and conversation slowly began once more.

It did not last long though, for the mighty blast of two Woodland horns bellowed into the dusk. Deep, rumbling tones played the same note slowly, over and over - it was not music, it was a signal almost, and a violent shudder ran down Elladan's spine.

The tent opened and Amareth and Marhen stepped out. They looked beautiful, mused the Noldo, for their dresses were simple yet perfectly elegant and their hair left loose to play about their waists. Atop their heads were crowns of woodland flowers that twisted and twirled and fell lower in some places than in others, hugging their lovely faces with the bounties of the forest. They were works of art and Elladan found himself fascinated by them.

But all thoughts of woodland crowns fled him when Legolas appeared before the tent.

Elladan's eyes bulged of their own accord and his mouth hung open and he could only assume he looked as stunned and stupid as those around him, for his eyes sought but could not focus, they saw but did not translate into words and he found himself incapable of reaction.

The horns continued to blare out their call, for beckon they did and Elladan's eyes roved over Legolas, out of control for his attire was simply - alien, like nothing he had ever seen. There was an ancient feel to it, like the Noldor of the First Age, but the slit up the front of his skirts, and the bare right arm and shoulder spoke of things purely Silvan, he thought, acutely arcane; the boots, the vambraces and bracelets that adorned his entire right arm and the Eternal Circle, painted forever upon his very skin. Yet it was his _hair_ that was beyond his ability to describe…

It was completely braided, and yet the differences in thickness and design lent a rich, deep texture to it. Lainion's Avarin braids had been reworked and he knew that would have been Legolas' doing - he would never allow them to be removed. Yet instead of sitting high upon his head in a pony tale as they usually did, they had been weaved together until they formed what Elladan could only describe as a crown.

Stones of blue, green, white and ambar served to seal some of his braids, resting now around his silk-clad waist, where a large, severely curved dagger sat inside his sash. He looked dangerous and feral, yet so soft - and utterly beautiful and Elladan's heart melted in pride and honour. He could never leave this elf, would ever serve at his side, wherever that service took him - he would see to it, for in spite of his own, high birth - nothing seemed as important as the service that now bound Elladan to Legolas' side.

With Erthoron and Lorthil at the fore, followed by Amareth and Marhen, and then Legolas himself, flanked by Narosén and Golloron, they slowly made their way to the trees and the sentinel where the short ceremony would take place, and as they passed, the Silvan people followed, small lanterns in their hands as they began to softly sing, the delicate lights flickering in the falling dusk, illuminating their hopeful faces. The horns still blared their single note and the night was crisp and still, and Elladan thought he had never seen such a magical sight. He was suddenly glad as the Company joined him and together, they followed in solemn silence.

Standing now before the tree, the people gathered around and watched as Legolas moved forward, and then knelt before the sentinel, his arms lax at his sides.

"Legolas," exclaimed Erthoron in his powerful voice, so that all could hear the oath that would now be taken. "Legolas son of Thranduil the Sinda and Lassiel the Silvan, born in Lland Galadh, Lord, Lieutenant. The Silvan people charge you with their protection by naming you Warlord. Do you accept this great honour, as the trees and our people are witness?"

"I do," said Legolas, just loud enough to be heard by most.

"From this day forth, you are our Warlord, until the day of your death or departure from these shores. May Yavanna bless you," he said with a soft smile, before slipping a ring onto his right index finger. It was done, and just as the Silvan leader turned to lead the entourage away from the tree and to the fortress, he hesitated, looking back at Legolas who remained kneeling upon the ground. Nobody had moved and his brow furrowed as he stepped closer, eyes searching for what it was that held him there.

"Legolas?" he asked quietly.

Legolas slowly stood, and then turned to face Erthoron, his face completely blank, head tilted slightly upwards as if he listened. The Silvan leader stared, and then stepped back, for the Warlord's body shone so intensely he seemed alight from within, and his eyes, transparent and yet so very green - he was an elf and yet like none he would ever have seen.

Elladan saw it too, but he did not startle for he had seen Legolas at his most frightening. This was a softer manifestation of his power, easier to understand and yet oh so enticing to look upon. Glancing at Narosén, the Spirit Herder smiled, his own head tilted to the heavens, and those in the crowd that had a modicum of skill also listened. There was a symphony on the air it seemed and Elladan suddenly wished he could here it, understand what it was that brought such joy to these, endearing people.

"It is time," came the sudden, unexpected words of the Warlord and the people gathered round once more, lanterns flickering softly, a thousand eyes shining in anticipation of what he would say.

"It is time to come together, brothers, sisters," he said, his eyes back from the heavens and on them all as he spoke with a confidence Elladan had never seen in him before. "It is time to close the gap that should never have existed, one only a few saw fit to open, and keep open purposefully for their own gain. It is not the Silvan way, it is not the _Sindarin_ way," he emphasised, and Elladan's heart sank as he saw the doubt on their faces…perhaps Legolas was wrong, perhaps this was not the time, he mused.

"They erred, aye, that cannot be doubted. But so is it true that they voted for the return of the Warlord - they see the error of their ways, brothers. Are we, then, to do the same as they did? Turn our backs on our Sindarin warriors? Scorn their culture, discard their ways and their customs? I tell you now I will _not_ ," he said, his voice strong and rebellious. The doubt was still there, but it was joined now, by curiosity…

"This is what _I_ will do, brothers, and I wonder - if you will be by my side? I will treat them as I would my own, value them on the only scale I know, that of the _truth_ , and if I should not be treated with the same deference - then I will remedy it, for we will remain silent no more. This is our time to reclaim our culture, our position in this forest - to live in equality together with the Avari, and the Sindar. I will not look down upon them, yet neither will I be looked down on. Will you then, be by my side in this?" he asked.

"Aye!" they said together and Legolas smiled. "Then let us invite them - invite them to the _Silvan_ side - to see us, understand us, value us - and in return, we shall do the same for them. Only in our regard for them, will we close this rift, brothers - embrace them in harmony - show them that together, we are strong, invincible. Together we cannot be swayed, that without us - they are _lost_!"

"Aye!" they shouted louder now and Elladan's heart began to rise from the pit it had fallen into just moments before. Perhaps it _had_ been the time…

"Then we march in pride! Musicians! Dancers! Poets and Bards! Get you to the fortress and we will follow - paint for our Sindarin cousins the colours of our world, make them feel the joy and honour in each note you play, each phrase you sing - open your arms to them and bring them - to the _Silvan_ side!" he shouted.

 _"Aye!"_ they roared and Elladan laughed as his soul lifted and sent tears to his eyes. He cared not though, for they all wore looks of such hope and excitement - it was akin to the moment of battle, a great leader infusing his warriors with the courage they would need to kill and be killed. It _was_ time, the _perfect_ time.

Turning to The Company, he reflected the smile on their own faces, especially those of Idhrenohtar and Ram en' Ondo who had known Legolas all his life, had surely known he would one day be great, just as Elladan had known it soon after they had met in Imladris.

And so the artists bounded away before the main entourage, laughing and talking excitedly as the people followed them, their lanterns swinging before them as they sang softly, their shimmering, shiny clothing sending sparks of colourful light into the darkening night.

Legolas smiled, lifting his head again as if to listen, and Narosén did likewise as they walked, slower than the rest, towards the fortress.

"What do they say?" asked Rhrawthir, his eyes wide as he looked upon his friend, his Warlord.

"They - sing, Rhrawthir, a song so sweet and yet so strong. They speak of the past, of the future, they whisper their love for our people, their promise of aid to our warriors," he said softly, his eyes still upon the boughs. They challenge the enemy too," he said, his eyes falling on the members of the Company, "for they are not peaceful creatures when their world is threatened - like elves, they fight and they kill to protect their own."

"You can hear - all that?" asked Glammohtar, his perfectly braided hair shining blue under the moonlight.

"I can hear all that - and _more_ …" he whispered in awe, his mind only half present it seemed for his eyes were still alight, although pleasantly so, the trees were still with him even now.

"Had you planned to say all that, Legolas?" asked Elladan, genuinely curious at the seemingly improvised speech he had given.

Legolas turned to his friend and studied him for a moment before answering. "I had planned to voice my concerns regarding the dangers of offending the Sindar, of tempering that instinctive desire to reap vengeance upon them for the years of disdain. I had not quite planned it to come out that way though, no. The moment took me…" he said, as if he did not understand it himself.

"Then you have succeeded, Legolas," said Idhrenohtar. "Your words are wise - the only way for this to work is to show them they are important to us."

"Yes," replied the Warlord, his eyes slipping to Koron en' Naur who strode before them, the standard of the Sindar flapping softly in the breeze. Beside him, Dorwen of the Avari with their own distinctive, and then Lorthil, with the banner of the Silvan people. Legolas, along with the Company, would be the last of them to enter the Great Hall, indeed even now, as they approached the main doors, the musicians and dancers would already be taking their places…

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Thranduil stood upon the Great Plateau, the secret forest of the Evergreen Wood sprawling into the darkening horizon before him. Silvan horns blared their siren in the distance and he knew they approached, that soon he would need to return to his place in the Great Hall and welcome the Silvan people and their new Warlord - his _son_ , the son he had still not made peace with.

Maeneth and brought them together with her simple presence, and Rinion had finally opened the door to his half brother, as Handir had done long before. But it was between him and his son now, the unspoken things, the intimate things that kept them apart, in spite of their timid approaches. They had not spoken of her, of Legolas' mother, the elf that should have been

queen …

He knew Legolas intended to travel to the deep forest, in search of answers and he wondered what it was he thought he would find. Why did he not simply ask his father - ask him what she had been like for that was surely what he wanted to know. But no, Legolas had a hidden agenda, he was sure of it.

"Father," came the tentative voice of Handir.

Turning, Thranduil smiled at his second child as he shone under the light of the moon. His deep blue tunic fell perfectly down to his shins and his jewelled belt hung low on his waist. A simple headpiece marked him as his son, as did his lovely face. A perfect prince, Legolas' first brother and he was proud, because this, measured elf of balanced mind and sturdy heart had brought his youngest son out of anonymity, had helped him to greatness, had returned to Thranduil a part of that soul he had loved so fiercely, and missed so much it had nearly cost him his family, his kingdom. Sweet Handir, sweet Lassiel …

He closed the gap between them and placed his hand over his son's cheek, looking intently into Handir's questioning eyes.

"I am proud of you, my Prince, my son, for to have come to this day - would not have been possible without you."

Handir stared back at his father, for he surely had not expected his father to speak of that now, when the Silvans were on the point of entering the Great Hall.

"It was Turion, father, and then Lainion and Aradan. Without them, I could not have brought him to you."

"No," murmured the king, "but it was _your_ heart, Handir, your acceptance of him that kept his mind open to the possibility - that he could have a family - that we could be reunited.

"And if that is true then I am glad - for I too, am proud of my father, my King."

Handir smiled a strong, determined smile and Thranduil mirrored it.

"Then come, let us greet these Silvan sprites and their new Warlord," said the king, clapping Handir upon the shoulder and returning to the High Table, where Rinion sat talking quietly with Maeneth, and Aradan smiled as Llyniel fretted with her lovely dress and Miren, his wife, fussed with the Silvan Crown that Legolas had gifted her with.

Further down, sat the Permanent Council and their husbands and wives, but with the notable exception of Barathon, who was under strict house arrest, pending the king's decision. As for Draugole, he had not been seen at public events since the Baudh Gwaith incident.

On a nearby table sat many of the Inner Circle; Captains of the Greenwood - Turion, Dunorel, Thoron, and of course Commander General Celegon and General Huron, their wives and lovers at their sides.

Other tables hosted important members of their society. Scholars, Lore Masters, the Master Healer Nestaron, artists and visiting diplomats from Lorien, together with Haldir, the Marchwarden, whose eyes would stray to Maeneth every now and then, a thoughtful gleam in his eye.

One, entire side of the Hall was occupied by the musicians and singers who even now, organised their music and tuned their fiddles and lyres, and upon the Great Plateau, were hundreds of others who milled around, glasses in hand, waiting for the moment in which the Silvan dignitaries would join them.

There was electricity in the air, expectation, excitement, yet there was also apprehension, for who was to say what would become of this. Indeed it was the councillors, the statesmen, who argued amongst themselves - was this a simple exercise of Silvan supremacy - payback for what they considered years of injustice? While they agreed that things had escaped their control, that there had indeed, been injustice, they did not want it rubbed in their faces, for not all of them had participated in the discrimination. And so they sat, and they discussed, even now as the first wine was served and a soft flute began to play a slow, forest melody.

Aradan looked across at the musicians, a Silvan conductor at the fore who waved his arms softly this way and that, as if he could impress the emotion of the music on the flutist that weaved the tune, that slowly but surely began to rise in volume, until a single violin joined him, and then two, and before long, a slow, heavy base moved the music to a different level - still slow, yet powerful, poised, as if slowly building to a crescendo.

Silvan dancers filed through the door, creating a corridor that led directly to the high table. Some broke away, dancing to the slow tune as they threw flower petals in the air and smiled at all who watched. Aradan chuckled when a handful of rose petals fell over Llyniel and she looked up in surprise for the dancer seemed to know who she was.

Yet what struck the councillor more than anything else, was the utter joy upon their faces - there was a light in their eyes, and Aradan had no doubts as to what it was - it was _hope_ -

Turning to the king, he saw his friend's kingly mask, the one that gave nothing away, but as Thranduil's eyes flickered towards his own he saw it - he saw curiosity.

Of a sudden, the numerous fiddlers and flutists stood as the music changed tempo. Rich bases accompanied the strings and for the first time, the mighty beat of the woodland drums made more than one respectable Sinda jump in his seat.

The dancers stamped their feet in time to the drums, the sound of their metallic studs echoing around the hall, as if they were an army, marching before the enemy, and Aradan's skin prickled, a shiver running the entire length of his spine.

The Silvan conductor jumped and swayed and pointed and shook his hands as the music gained in speed and drama, as Silvan lords and ladies began to appear, walking slowly between the dancers, smiling and nodding and then moving to their respective tables but not sitting, and slowly, the Sindar followed suit. The moment was upon them and as the fiddles and flutes began a frantic battle, the base drums not far behind, all heads turned to the door.

The standard of the Avari came into view, Doren striding slowly and proudly as he tilted it forwards for all to see. There were timid cheers from the few Avarin elves present and then, Lorthil did likewise with the Silvan banner. This time the cheer was a mighty one, yet the last standard, was that of the Sindarin people and those that still had not stood, did so now, their faces reflecting the surprise they felt, for surely the Warlord would march under the Silvan banner - but no, he had chosen the Sindarin flag and the cheer that followed would never be forgotten, for the message was clear, and Aradan beamed proudly - he had been right.

And so, as the Silvans stomped their feet to the dramatic music and the banners flew high, the Sindar began to smile and to relax - this was a _forest_ celebration, one that knew no race nor colour - only those that dwelled and fought under the boughs of the mighty Greenwood.

The Silvan Warlord appeared at the door, flanked by those closest to him - his warriors of The Company, and cries of shock rippled through the crowds, from the doors and straight to the king's table. Thranduil stood abruptly, eyes riveted on the door and the guards, thinking perhaps something had happened. Indeed Aradan too was on his feet and before long, the entire Hall stood, craning their necks to get a better view of what it was that had shocked them so. Only the musicians continued their music, fast and fierce as the dancers slammed their feet upon the stone floor and Aradan's heart seemed to beat in time with them.

It was only when the three flags passed them, their bearers standing to one side, and the figure of the Warlord finally came into view, that they understood what the disturbance had been. It had been him - _Legolas_ …

As the elf walked towards his awaiting king, the entire hall watched him - every nuance, every detail - the way he moved and the clothes he wore - and the crown of pale blond hair that had been woven around his head in a way no one had ever seen before. A crownless prince, a crowned Warlord.

Thranduil's eyes danced over him, but they would always return to his eyes, for they were alight and it was strange - there was magic at work, and the king was aware of it, as too, were Mithrandir and Glorfindel, for they stepped forward in trepidation. But where the general was shocked at his adopted son's appearance, Mithrandir stood in awe and deep understanding.

"Welcome, Warlord," said Thranduil, his eyes still trying to settle on his son and not on the details of his attire.

"Thank you, my King."

Turning, Legolas bowed to Rinion, Handir and then Maeneth. Glorfindel bowed and Legolas returned it, just as formally, and then clasped his friend's metal-clad forearms with his hands, his strange eyes speaking silent thanks and eternal respect. The Noldo smiled back proudly, nodding his understanding and then stepping back.

Mithrandir bowed his head as Legolas passed, and Legolas did likewise, knowing that of them all, the wizard understood what was with him - knew the trees still spoke and sung for his eyes told that story, the energy shining behind them would not be lost on the Maia.

The music had reached its height and when if finally finished and the stomping warriors stilled their feet, a cheer went up amongst Sindar and Silvan alike. The tension had gone, the air cleared. They were no longer worried or concerned but pleasantly surprised at the deference the Silvan people had shown the Sindar - acceptance was almost complete, it seemed.

Approaching Llyniel a little further down at the high table, Legolas first nodded at Lord Aradan, and then at Lady Miren, who stared wide-eyed at him, making him smile boyishly. Standing now before Llyniel, his eyes roved over the lovely crown that Marhen had prepared for her, and then her blue eyes, and the elegant purple dress she wore. Placing a hand over his heart he smiled as he spoke.

"You look - different," he smiled mischievously and she smiled back at him.

"You mean without those healer robes you met me in?"

"Yes - I never realised…" he trailed off, his eyes momentarily dropping to her cleavage, and then suddenly checking himself.

Llyniel resisted the urge to chuckle. "You look wonderful, my Lord," she said huskily and Legolas was surprised to see her pupils suddenly dilate, making him wonder what the night would bring.

Bowing once more, and with a simple, "until later," he took his place at the table and then turned to Elladan, who was greeting the dignitaries. He was nervous, realised Legolas as he settled himself, and then resisted the urge to snort at himself. Legolas himself could feel a thousand eyes upon him, watching his every move - it made him feel stilted. Yet he soon realised that this was not the reason for his friend's state of anxiety - it was Maeneth…

With a minute frown, he watched more closely. He had not been mistaken for the grey eyes would swivel to the princess and then promptly look away when he thought she may catch him. Lindohtar had been right - he _was_ besotted - with his sister no less. An apprehensive glance at the Crown Prince confirmed it, for the icy blue eyes bore fiery holes into Elladan's eyes - but his friend seemed oblivious to it.

Quieter, softer music began as the servants began to bring the food, and what a singular feast the Sindar had prepared. All the traditional Silvan foods had been served and presented so beautifully it wrought a smile from Erthoron and Narosén, who looked to the king in silent question.

"This is your evening, my Silvan friends. This is our way of honouring your culture."

"It is most thoughtful, my king," he exclaimed as he watched the platters as they were set down upon the decorated tables. Pheasant and quail, boar and venison, vegetable creams and spicy roots, the smells of thyme and rosemary lingering enticingly. This was, indeed, Silvan fare, and Legolas wished he could just dip his fingers into it and take it to his mouth, for now that the worst was over, he found he was starving.

A servant poured wine into his goblet, but tasting it would have to wait, for the king would make a brief speech now, and only then would he be free to eat and drink - that if he was left to his own devises, which he was sure he would not be.

The king stood, and then cast his steady eyes around the Great Hall and to the Plateau beyond, waiting until all had seen him and stilled their conversations.

"My Ladies, Lords, warriors and visiting dignitaries, welcome to Greenwood the Great, land of the Sindar, Silvan and Avarin people…"

Cheers went up and although it was not protocol, their high spirits could not be quelled.

"Tonight, we welcome the Silvan Warlord, and we wish him success in his new venture,"

He was interrupted as more cheers echoed through the hall and Thranduil waited for them to die down before continuing.

"It is our heartfelt wish," he emphasised, his eyes glinting, "that with this investiture, a new era will begin. An era of brotherhood, where equality and justice prevails, in which unity will vanquish our common foe and the greatness of past times will become our present once more. It is - our heartfelt desire - that from today, the wishes of the few may never again prevail over the dreams of the people; that power and spite may never again be allowed to stain our honour, ruin our hearts, taint our souls with darkness. Today, we are three, fascinating cultures but one people - no one better than the other - all of them the better for the presence of the other. So come - and celebrate - show the world that the Sindar, the Silvan and the Avari are inseparable, _invincible!_ "

A roar of pure passion shattered the silence of the Greenwood and the king smiled, wide and genuine, and then he sat and watched as those closest to him looked at him as they once had, before everything had changed.

Music began once more and wine began to flow, the soft clink of cutlery as food was served, and soft conversation began, in spite of the powerful undercurrents of excitement and anticipation, for the night had only just begun.

Legolas observed Llyniel discreetly as he ate, and Elladan did likewise with Maeneth. Rinion watched them both and the king and Glorfindel smirked into their goblets. Yet Legolas' eyes still shone softly, the glow of his aura still unnaturally bright. The trees still sang and spoke, and amidst the quiet chaos, a single discordant note, although distant, continued to call out to him.

' _Be at peace, Thranduil…'_

Frowning as he listened, he tried to concentrate upon the soft whisper.

 _'I free you …'_

He turned his head away from the conversation, feeling Narosén's eyes upon him but he could not break the connection lest he lose it, yet try as he might, he knew that if he continued, he would not be able to control it and so he mentally shook himself.

A hand upon his ornate vambrace - Narosén, his concerned gaze falling on him in silent question.

"A voice from the distance - from the other side…" he whispered and Narosén's eyes glistened in curiosity.


	66. Reel of Lland Galadh

Author's notes:

Apologies to all my reviewers for chapter 65 - I just could not find the time to answer you, something I hate doing.

Some of you were interested in the music being described. Well, try 'Reel Around the Sun' by Maire Breatnach for the Warlord's entrance, and in this chapter, for the Reel of Lland Galadh, try Duelling Violins by Ronan Hardiman.

It was great to meet some of you guys over on Facebook - thanks for friending. And those that went on to check out my Wattpad account - amazing - and I am glad you like the book covers. And a special mention to Leggyrespect123 for the incredible help and encouragement - just wanted you to know it means a lot to me.

Well, we truly are in the last two chapters now - so only one more after this. I am not going to cry about it, absolutely not, so on with the tale…

Oh - and will we finally hit 1,000 reviews?

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Rita Orca, Noph, Ninde, Freetobe, Lecoeur, Guest1345, Violet, GB12390, Lea1985: Thank you for your wonderful comments.

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Chapter sixty-six: Reel of Lland Galadh

Legolas took a long sip of his wine, relishing for a moment the strong, heady aroma that snaked up into his nostrils and soothed his racing heart. He had not eaten much and perhaps that was just as well. There would be time enough once they returned to camp, where the real party would begin and he would be freer to be himself. He smirked mentally, wondering if Llyniel would be allowed to join him.

Elladan was talking animatedly with Handir, his eyes straying to the princess from time to time, while Mithrandir and Narosén had struck up a deep conversation on the properties of energy flow between trees, apparently oblivious to all else.

Maeneth spoke with Llyniel and with Rinion, but Legolas could see her veiled interest in Elladan, something that made him inordinately happy. Elladan had been given only temporary leave to ride in the Greenwood, and the thought of losing him, losing Rafnohtar left him with a hollow feeling. Elrond's eldest son had become irreplaceable, and his friendship with Maeneth was a promising whisper, that perhaps, with time, they would become closer - that Elladan would not have to leave.

"Legolas," came Mithrandir's deep voice. "Your eyes - if we may - Narosén and I were discussing the reason behind their - _luminosity_ -," he said.

The question had drawn the attention of all that sat close enough to hear, including Llyniel, and Legolas knew he would need to be careful with what he said. Placing his fork carefully upon his plate, he turned his eyes to the side, searching for a way to describe it, one that would not sound too - far fetched, too close to the truth.

"I believe it is their light, a part of their aura seems to - connect - with mine, it is what allows me to understand them, and for them to understand me. Some of you have seen the full extent of it, unfortunately," he smiled ruefully, "and I believe that is due to the suddenness of it, the urgency of their voice, the amount of their essence that is needed to make me understand - do you follow?" he frowned, his eyes moving from Mithrandir to Narosén.

"I believe so," said Mithrandir with a brief glance at the Spirit Herder. "But go on…" urged the wizard, "why do they shine now - do they still speak?" he asked.

"Yes," smiled Legolas. "Can you not hear them, Narosén?" he asked and the Spirit Herder shook his head. "Not any more, not in here," he said sadly.

"They murmur and they sing, and sometimes they speak of people, and places. For now it is soft and distant, unintelligible unless I concentrate."

"'Tis magic," said Maeneth in wonder, but Legolas shook his head adamantly. "No, not magic, sister. It is physics - it is an exchange of energy I do not understand the details of, but it is not caused by incantations or spells. I am not a mage, I am a simple vessel through which they speak."

"Handy in a difficult situation," said Rinion with a smirk, and Legolas giggled. "Aye - but dangerous should I be mistaken for a demon of _Morgoth,_ as Silor once called me," he smirked as he picked up his fork once more.

"I heard about that," said Rinion as he sipped his wine. "The fool is a base warrior once more."

"He had no leadership skills at all, brother, even _I_ could see that," said Handir.

"Then it is just as well," muttered Rinion.

"I always thought… Legolas?" asked Elladan, interrupting whatever it was he was about to say, for his friend's gaze was off to the side once more, lost in the voice of the trees.

"I wonder, if you would excuse me, my Lords, for a brief time. There is something I must do. I will be back soon," he said softly, standing and bowing, and then walking from the Hall under the attentive gaze of the elves.

"Where does he go?" asked Aradan in puzzlement.

"He answers the call of the trees, my Lord. Thus is his duty, for one of his condition," explained Narosén.

"For one of his condition? What do you mean?" asked the councillor.

Narosén startled, realising that perhaps not all of them were aware of the source of Legolas' ability.

"For a listener, my Lord."

Aradan frowned, briefly glancing at his king, who simply shook his head almost imperceptibly, and Aradan did not insist, rather he stowed the information away. There was something he was not being told.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Legolas walked slowly through the corridors, passing ceremonial guards who stood to attention as he walked on. They would soon be relieved of their duty so that they could join in the festivities, indeed many of them were Silvan, their own families already in the thick of the celebrations they could clearly hear from where they stood.

On he walked, until he reached the door that led outside, and to the royal gardens.

Once outside, the voices grew louder, sharper, more intelligible as he walked to the place he had sat the day before together with his siblings, where the flowerless rose bush stood alone and barren.

Kneeling upon the lawn, his eyes latched onto the plant and he listened. It was a sad song, slow and melancholic that weaved its sorry tune around its roots, around stalks and stems and green leaves, strangling its fertility, stealing from it its natural vigour, its instinct to bloom neutralised by the paralysing sorrow that surrounded it.

An overwhelming pulse of grief washed over him and he closed his eyes in misery. Opening them again, he swiped irritatedly at a stray tear and then held out his hand to brush over the leaves, careful not to prick his skin on the spines.

 _'Thranduil…'_

He gasped as the sound cut through his mind, sending a stab of pain to the back of his eyes, but he would not take his hand back - he had to know what it was - who it was that called out to the king.

He had an inkling of what would happen, for had it not been the same in Imladris, when he had felt the past and the future of the Lady Celebrian? He had given much thought to it, and the only plausible theory he had, was that the trees of Valinor were in contact with their brethren in Middle Earth. That a part of them shared a collective consciousness, even across the Sundering Sea.

 _'You are free, my love..'_ came the voice once more and the flash of a lovely face came to him.

 _'I free you of the bonds you never wanted…'_

His blood froze and he shuddered - this was Aglareb, it was _her_ emotions that came to him and they were overwhelming him, just as he had been overwhelmed in Imladris, yet this time, the element of surprise had gone, and Legolas tried to focus, to channel the barrage of thoughts and feelings he was receiving.

 _'I never wanted… I never knew…'_

Legolas thought he would never know if these emotions were from the past, perhaps when she was still here, sitting before her favourite plant, pondering the tragedy of her existence, of her unrequited love - an echo of her sorrow. Or perhaps they were thoughts from the present, from Valinor, when time may have healed her grief and given her a second chance.

Focussing his eyes once more upon the bush, he smiled sorrowfully.

'Would that I could know your fate…' he spoke to himself.

Breathing deeply, he stroked his ringed index finger over the stem one last time, for it was time to return lest Erthoron set the guards to find him. Standing, he smoothed out his silvan skirt, and then marvelled once more at the quality of the fabric, his eyes moving over the delicate embroidery around the edges of the leather overlay, and from the corner of his eye, a delicate pink rose blossomed in the blink of an eye.

Legolas turned to the bush once more, suddenly cold and breathless, for it was not one, single rose that had blossomed, but the entire bush.

He cried then, not in sorrow but in overwhelming awe, for the simplicity of it, for the power that had made it possible, for the message he understood without doubt. Aglareb _was_ healed, and she had freed her husband of his bonds. She understood and should the king travel one day across the seas, he would be forgiven, and he would be _free_ …

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Walking slowly back down the corridors, he smiled as he listened to a merry Woodland tune that was being played - the dancing had begun and his step quickened. As he passed one of the many ceremonial guards standing to attention, he could have sworn he saw an armoured boot tap to the beat, but as his eyes locked with the guard in question, he could not detect the slightest hint of movement, for the warrior stood stock still, eyes to the fore and Legolas frowned, before he smirked, and then walked away, back towards the hall, the soft tap of a booted foot echoing mischievously behind him.

Elves were dancing in the centre of the Great Hall, smiling and laughing as they turned and bowed and floated in elegant circles. It was civilised and galant - a Sindarin rendering of a Silvan jig. Well, it was time to show them, perhaps, how the deep Silvans danced a reel - but first…

"Ah, you are back," said Thranduil with a smile, his eyes lingering on those of his son and Legolas was suddenly uncomfortable, as if his father could read his mind. He knew he could not, but he felt - vulnerable.

Sitting, he reached for his wine and drank, his eyes catching the sideways glances of his table companions. It was providence that precisely at that moment, a single fiddle began to play the introduction to one of the Silvan's most beloved reels. Now was the time to put this blasted skirt to the test, he thought with a winning smile.

Turning to Elladan, his face full of mischief and his eyes sparking, he uttered the words he knew his friend had been dreading all evening. "It is time, _Noldo,_ to show us what you have learned!"

Elladan paled, a look of utter panic spreading over his face.

"I am not Silvan!"

"So?" snorted Legolas.

"I do not know how to dance this!"

"Follow us!" he said as he pulled Elladan from his chair and those at the table chuckled.

The rest of The Company were approaching now, straightening their tunics as their eyes searched the crowds for a suitable companion.

"Ready brothers? Shall we dance this the Lland Galadh way?" he shouted merrily.

"Aye!" they cheered and so, as the fiddle wound through the introductory notes, each elf came to stand before their intended partner. Legolas was before Llyniel, who still sat and smiled, and Elladan resisted the urge to close his eyes as he stepped before Maeneth, whose eyes were wide with surprise, and Rinion's had almost disappeared into glittering slits. As for Glorfindel, he smirked as he watched, wondering if the Princess would accept, and further away, the March Warden of Lorien changed his course and then stood before Mentathiel. The Spirit Singer startled, not having expected to be invited to dance with the handsome March Warden, but soon enough she smiled her acceptance, and Haldir, with one last, fond gaze upon Maeneth, turned his full attention to the enticing Avarin.

The music suddenly exploded and the lads of The Company began to jig before their wide-eyed partners, feet tapping here and there, their hair bouncing up and down upon their shoulders, or in Legolas' case around his silk and leather-clad waist.

Aradan watched in fascination, as Glorfindel simply guffawed, for the dance was daring and it was primal. Rinion leered at Elladan and Mithrandir chuckled together with Narosén. As for Erthoron, he looked on proudly, for the Reel of Lland Galadh was famous throughout the forest, especially when Legolas danced it. He just hoped that skirt would not let the boy down.

The introduction came to a close and Llyniel stood and then curtseyed, before holding her hand out. Elladan jigged as he panicked, watching Legolas' every move and mirroring it, and then almost crying in relief as Maeneth stood and the onlookers gasped, something that made Glorfiindel laugh all the louder.

The Warlord pulled on Llyniel's arm and towards him, escorting her out to the centre of the floor as they softly jigged together, joining the rest of The Company and the other Silvan elves brave enough to dance this reel. Elladan finally joined them, and although a little clumsy, was managing to hold his own - but what was priceless to his brother's of the Company, was that the panic had gone and in its place, was boyish glee, for his princess had accepted the dance and he no longer seemed to care that he would get it wrong.

Legolas nodded approvingly at him, and then turned to Llyniel.

"Can you dance this the Lland Galadh way?" he asked, the sparkle of challenge in his eye.

"Oh yes - do your worst, _Warlord!_ she shouted cockily, but the shout turned into a long drawn-out scream as he suddenly encircled her waist and spun around the floor to the now fully-fledged reel.

Elladan's rendering of the dance was much more civilised, but the moves were correct, and Maeneth smiled. "You are doing well, my Lord!" she shouted over the din.

"I picked up more than I thought!" he shouted back, concentrating on his foot movements.

Legolas laughed, carefree for the first time in more than a year as he flung Llyniel into the dance once more.

The crowds stood and moved to the sidelines, watching the merriment, while the Silvans whistled and yipped as they clapped their hands and stomped their feet to the ever increasing rhythm and the dancers strived to keep up with it.

" _Go Hwindohtar!_!" shouted Ram en' Ondo, and go he did. The music broke off into a single fiddler and the males and females danced away from each other, the females lifting their skirts and kicking their feet here and there as the males distanced themselves, or in the case of Legolas, moved to the almost the back of the hall.

When Llyniel had finished her own flurry, she stood and watched with baited breath, for Legolas began to cartwheel and then flip-flop towards her, ending in a sideways twist and then a spectacular backwards flip that sent him sailing over her head, only to land on the other side of her and promptly whisk her away in the now frenzied rhythm as the entire orchestra took up the music. There was a mighty cheer, screams and hoots from the onlookers as the dancers reeled round and around, their skirts and hair flying madly around them.

Legolas span Llyniel purposefully close to the high table so that her skirt flew past her father and mother and she screamed as she laughed hysterically, the tempo accelerating once more, barely able to hold on.

Glorfindel was slapping his thighs in mirth and Mithrandir was wheezing, and Miren, Llyniel's mother sat with one hand on either side of her own face, her mouth wide and her eyes giddy.

One final spate in the music and Legolas lifted his partner into the air and spun her around and when the tune finally came to an end he set her down and twirled her around one last time as the crowds shouted and screamed and cheered.

Standing before each other, their chests heaving and their faces alight with the exhilaration of the dance, their eyes strayed to their lips and Legolas suddenly snapped out of the spell, giggling and then offering his arm to her.

Elladan and Maeneth were at their side then, and the Noldo looked at Legolas in something akin to disgust.

Legolas snorted and Maeneth giggled, but they said nothing for they were all, completely out of breath.

The warriors of The Company slapped Legolas on the shoulder before returning to their tables, heroes to the rest of the Silvans sitting there, and Legolas and Elladan did the same, under the amused gazes of those present.

"Well, bless my Sindarin hide but I must learn _that!_ " exclaimed Handir, before adding, "well, not the acrobatics bit - I would disjoint myself - but the rest - you must teach me!"

Legolas smiled, and then turned first to Aradan and then to Miren, who stared at him in shock. Bowing respectfully, he led Llyniel to her place and then sat once more, the very picture of lordly behaviour.

Thranduil had watched it all; he had smiled, and even laughed. He loved his youngest child with a passion he could not explain. Pride was simply an insufficient word, for he was beautiful, strong, skilled and so very empathic. A born leader, a heart-breaker - at peace with everyone except him, his father.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

The night drew on and the music continued to flow, just like the wine and the dancing and soon, the younger members of the community had withdrawn to the Great Plateau, where the music could still be heard, but where they could sit and lounge and speak more freely as they enjoyed the fresh air and the stunning views over the Evergreen Wood.

Legolas lay on his side with Llyniel sitting beside him. Elladan sat a little more formally, with Maeneth close by and even Handir had joined them. Glorfindel soon returned with a jug of wine in his hand which earned him fond smiles from the younger elves.

"You Silvans certainly know how to party," said Glorfindel as he sat on a cushion and poured them wine.

"Oh yes, we excel in that, Glorfindel. Soon, my people will return to the camp and continue until the Sun is awake and we are falling asleep! What-" he began timidly, "what was it like in Gondolin?"

Glorfindel smiled and Legolas watched the play of emotion on his face.

"Not as wild as the Silvans, not as civilised as Imladris. We did have dances like yours though, not only reels but warrior dances - I will teach you one day," he said and Legolas smiled.

"I would like that. We already have an ongoing project, one more will be welcome…" he said, and Glorfiindel knew he referred to the Qalma Liltie. It would take them years to perfect, but if he knew Legolas at all, he knew that he would, one day, dominate the art, and then they would dance it together, become legend.

"Your people are leaving for the camp, I think, Legolas," said Maeneth and Legolas turned to watch them as they waved their goodbyes.

"Then come," he said, rising and taking Llyniel's hand. "I should escort you back to your parents, unless you think they would allow you to follow me?"

"If I ask they would protest. Come, escort me to them and I will - _inform_ them - of where I will be."

Legolas smiled. He had suspected she would say such a thing but had not wanted to presume.

"You are all invited back of course, he said to the rest. Glorfiindel held up his hand, he would stay where he was, comfortable and at peace, and Maeneth smiled ruefully.

"I should not push my luck," she said and then turned shyly to Elladan.

"Maeneth, at least a stroll in the lower gardens? I will escort you back to your father and - Rinion," said Elladan, somewhat sourly, to which she laughed.

"Aye, you would do well, and yes - a walk in the gardens would be lovely," she said more softly now, and Legolas caught Handir's calculating gaze as he smiled into his own goblet.

"I will see you later then, Elladan. Handir?"

"Oh no! I am become a prude, brother, I will sit here with Glorfindel for a while."

"Then I will see you all later, or tomorrow. Have fun, my friends!" he smirked, and then offered his arm to Llyniel, who took it with a smile and a saucy giggle.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Soon they were ambling down the path that led into the Silvan camp, and the music became louder. It was not the grand, orchestral harmonies of the Fortress, but different groups of music, playing their own tunes to drums, flutes, fiddles and lyres. It was exciting and Llyniel smiled as she hugged closer to Legolas' arm, the primal beat setting the perfect background to an almost perfect evening.

The Silvan smiled and looked down upon her contented face. It had been a good night so far, he reckoned. The pomp and circumstance had gone as well as it possibly could have, and the Silvans had even managed to liven them up with their jigs and reels.

Elladan would now be trying to endear himself to Maeneth in the gardens, he thought with a grin.

"What makes you smile, Legolas?" asked Llyniel.

"Elladan - and Maeneth," he stressed.

"Oh yes. She likes him, you know," she said matter-of-factly and Legolas looked down at her in askance. "Oh?"

"Oh yes - attraction at first sight, I reckon. Prince Rinion was not impressed," she snorted and Legolas giggled. "Indeed no. Perhaps she will be amenable to his advances, then," he mused.

"Oh I would think so," she said with a smirk. "A dashing Noldorin Lord, cultured music, fine wine and a crisp evening . 'tis a recipe for romance…"

"Oh? said Legolas. "And - a galant Silvan Warlord in a skirt, dangerous grass liqueur and a towering tree - would that work?" he asked, his mouth suddenly close to hers.

"It might," she smiled, and together, they walked into the thick of the real party - the _wild_ one.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

The next morning, breakfast was served at the eleventh hour, unsurprising to most, for the festivities had lasted all night, literally; indeed as some flocked to breakfast, others were still making their way home, only half-aware of where they were, or even _who_ they were…

As Legolas and the Company slept beneath the trees, Llyniel was waking from her sleep at the fortress, a dreamy look in her eyes and a saucy smile for her mother, who had summarily bombarded her daughter with questions and comments and things her friends had said that she was bursting to share.

Maeneth's awakening was sweeter, quieter. Dressing simply, she allowed her maid to braid her hair as she mused quietly on last night's festivities, and what had followed. Leaving her rooms and bound for the family gardens, the image of a handsome Noldorin lord lingered in her mind's eye. Rolling her eyes at herself, she walked through the door and into the garden, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the brilliant sunshine. Hazy white turned into colours that sharpened into objects and Maeneth froze where she stood. Blinking, she scowled, feeling the beginnings of panic welling in her chest…

 _"Rinion! Handir!"_ she screamed, before sobbing and then placing a hand on her heaving chest, breathing too fast.

A guard rushed through the door, frantically looking around for the danger the Princess was surely in, but there was nothing, and then he, too, stood paralysed.

" _Brothers!"_ she shouted. She was scared, _terrified…_

Moments later, Rinion charged through the door, sword in hand and behind him, Thranduil and Aradan.

"Yavanna Kementari…." whispered Rinion in utter shock.

But Handir, although stunned himself, smiled softly at first, and then wider. "Yes … Yavanna."

"What is is you know?" asked Rinion, puzzled now at the expression on his brother's face.

"Legolas - Legolas did this…" he said confidently.

"No - no that is not possible," said Maeneth, shaking her head.

"Not impossible, Princess," said Mithrandir kindly as he stepped forward. "Your brother is a Protege, my Lady. The grace of Yavanna allowed him to do this - and I dare say he has something to say about it, the reason behind those barren roses - for so it seems to work…"

"Her roses… Rinion…" said Maeneth shakily as she slowly approached the bush that had bloomed, its vines full, heavy with the weight of the most perfect pink roses Maeneth had ever seen. These were the flowers that had not blossomed since the queen had left, the fruitless bush that had always reminded the siblings of their mother's suffering, of her departure and their grief.

" _Guard!_ Call for Lord Legolas at the Silvan camp. Tell him it is urgent, he must accompany you back here.." ordered Rinion, his voice clipped.

"My Prince," saluted the guard.

"It is - preternatural - " whispered Handir as he slowly began to walk, holding his arms out and trying to take in every detail of what his eyes were seeing.

Every single flower in the entire garden had blossomed, and bees and butterflies flitted here and there, reaping the ostentatious bounty that was to be had. The grass and leaves seemed impossibly vibrant, trees and bushes seemed larger - this was a garden of paradise and Handir smiled once more, and then giggled as he turned on his heel and closed his eyes as he danced around himself.

Maeneth giggled at him, her fright now gone, replaced with awe and yet incomprehension. Sitting upon the grass, she allowed her hands to glide over the fresh green grass, and then reached out to the rose bush and plucked a smaller flower, placing it inside her hair.

Handir and Rinion sat beside her, while Thranduil, Mithrandir, Glorfindel and a growing number of onlookers watched in utter awe.

The king turned and instructed a guard to have breakfast served here, and to let no one else pass, save for Lord Legolas when he arrived. Thus the door was guarded, and the lords moved to join the younger siblings, sitting themselves down on a nearby stone table.

"How is this possible, Mithrandir?" asked the King as his eyes darted here and there.

"He did something similar in Imladris, although not quite so spectacular, I must say," muttered the wizard.

"If he truly did this, then his powers are well beyond what I had thought, Mithrandir."

"It is easy to underestimate him, I think. He is a warrior, he hides this facet of himself well, and that is good, I think. It will protect him some."

Servants placed platters of food and jugs of juice upon the simple garden table, and then bowed, unable to resist looking around the stunning garden as they left.

Soon after, the door opened and Legolas stepped through and into the garden. He stopped and looked around, his eyes seeming to analyse every plant, every flower, every change that had taken place since he had sat here the night before.

He was dressed as a simple Silvan civilian. Brown breeches and black boots, a long white shirt and a green jerkin on top. His hair was still plaited, but the crown arrangement was gone and his characteristic pony tale stood high upon his crown. His face, however, told of his activities the night before, indeed of this very same morning, for his complexion was paler than was usual, eyes a little more slanted and shaded, albeit they had returned to their normal, bright green colour. The only things that marked him as Warlord, were the beads in his hair and the ring upon his finger.

"Legolas, join us," said the king, a little too lightly and Legolas smiled knowingly.

Nodding to them all, he sat next to Handir and reached for the juice, pouring himself a healthy glass and drinking deeply from it.

"Dehydrated?" asked Rinion with a smirk.

Legolas gave him a wry smile, his answer monosyllabic, "aye."

"Headache?" asked Maeneth innocently as she watched her brother in amusement.

"Aye."

"Content?" asked Glorfindel.

Legolas' head rose for the first time since sitting, and then smiled at his friend. "Aye," he said sincerely through his smile, and Glorfindel returned it, knowing full well that his reply had been about much more than simply the night of the festivities. He was happy with life, for the most part, wagered Glorfindel, for things were finally falling into place. There was only one thing left now, and that was for Legolas to open his arms to his real father, to Thranduil.

"Legolas," began Maeneth carefully. "Was it you? Did you do - all this?" she asked as she looked around the garden, as if she still could not quite believe it.

"They did it themselves, sister. It took but a receptive ear to take away that which impeded their natural instincts."

"You sound like a wizard," snorted Rinion. "Speak clearly, boy."

Legolas arched an eyebrow at the Crown Prince, but wisely held his tongue as he tried to explain himself.

"The garden did not bloom because it was reflecting the residual grief of she who inhabited this place - of Queen Aglareb…"

A fork clattered onto a plate and silence descended over the group.

"Have a care, brother…" warned Handir, aware of how Legolas' next words may affect his volatile, elder brother.

"Do you want the truth? Or do you want to appease your brother, Handir? I am in no mood for intrigues and subtleties, truly."

Handir turned back to Legolas. "Do you not recall how the last - conversation such as this one - ended up?" he asked with a frown. "I have no wish to witness it again."

"Then perhaps it is Rinion you should be speaking with, not me?" he asked somewhat sarcastically.

"Perhaps," conceded Handir.

"Legolas, please, just tell us - how, what happened?" pleaded Maeneth.

"You will recall I left the festivities momentarily - for truth be told their voices were insistent - I had to see what it was they felt so strongly about. I knew though, that it would be here," he pointed to the roses, "here, is were it started, and perhaps where it finishes…" he muttered, almost to himself.

"Legolas," said Rinion, his impatience beginning to show on his angular face, "for the love of…."

" _Rinion_ ," said Maeneth irritably, garnering a smirk from Handir and even Thranduil.

Shooting a grateful smile at the princess, Legolas continued.

"If I am to speak the truth - you must here me out, Rinion. No dramas, no scenes, I have no patience for it this morning."

"Go on," said the crown prince, his antagonism fading somewhat.

"Sometimes, when I listen, when they speak to me it is difficult to understand what it is that I hear - in the sense that I cannot be sure if the feelings are from the past, an echo of sorts, or if they are from the present. Remember this for it is important… " he said, casting his eyes over them all to emphasise his point before continuing.

"The queen - would sit here, thinking - and although she was Sinda, I would wager she was close to nature, more than usual for one of her race.."

"How do you know that?" asked Handir. "I mean it is true, she would spend hours here, alone or in the company of her maids, with us - this was her place," he clarified, and the other siblings nodded.

Legolas took a deep breath, and then pressed on, and Thranduil watched him closely. The boy was suffering the effects of what seemed to be a colossal hang over - the guard must surely have awoken him. He poured tea and pushed it forwards and Legolas looked up at him gratefully for a moment, blowing on the steaming liquid.

"Her thoughts were grim - at first, but others came to me, thoughts of - closure. She called out to you, my King - and this is where I could not be sure if her message was a simple echo of the past, something she decided before she left, or whether it is a reflection of her thoughts now, in Valinor…"

"Message- what _message?_ " asked the king flatly, and the three siblings sat suddenly straighter upon the grass.

"She said, that she releases you, my King, from the bonds you had never wanted…"

Thranduil startled and sat back in shock, and then spared a worried glance at his children sitting upon the lawn.

Maeneth's eyes had filled with tears, and Handir frowned. Rinion's face, however, was blank.

"She said, she never wanted - never knew…"

"What, knew what?" asked Rinion.

"I do not know - my words are the words that came to me, Rinion. I can only make conjectures."

"And what do you think, Warlord?" asked Mithrandir. "Is this simply a reflection of the past…?"

Legolas held the wise blue eyes before answering and Thranduil watched them both, thinking perhaps that Mithrandir already knew the answer to his own question.

"No - it is not a reflection. It is Queen Aglareb's wish to free our king from his bond of matrimony - I know this, because the shadow has been lifted from this place - the grief has gone from it, just as it has left her."

Maeneth covered her mouth with her hand and Handir placed an arm around her shoulders. "Then she is Queen no more," said Handir, almost to himself.

"To me, she will always be the Queen of this realm, Handir," said Thranduil as he stood, and Handir simply stared at him, and then nodded silently.

"You are free then," began Rinion. "Free to love again," he said, and tension crackled around them, for the comment was a daring one, a challenge from Crown Prince to King.

"Not free, Rinion," began Thranduil calmly. "I have not been free to love for seven hundred and forty five years," he said softly, his eyes momentarily straying to Legolas'.

"If you will excuse me…" he said, and then left in silence, to the sanctuary of his rooms. Away from this, away from them all.

"Must you always antagonise, Rinion?" asked Handir in irritation.

"It was not my wish to antagonise, Handir. I spoke the truth. He _is_ free."

"And what good would that do him?" asked Glorfindel, "if the only one he would love - is dead?"

Rinion stared back at Glorfindel, but promptly looked away and Legolas stood.

"For my part, I am glad that your mother is well, that she is at peace. This garden will remind you only of good things now, not the grief but the acceptance, that life continues, we will it or not."

"Thank you, brother, for this gift," said Maeneth and Legolas finally smiled, in spite of his throbbing head. Handir too, nodded his thanks but Rinion stood and approached his younger brother.

"You are generous, I cannot deny that, just as I cannot deny that I dislike the idea of my father and my mother being sundered from their bond. Yet it is a fact - one I must accept. Had your own mother lived, perhaps there would be happiness for her now, and for you."

Legolas stared back at Rinion in shock, for these were the first, kind words Rinion had ever spoken to him.

"It is too late for her, Rinion. She did die, a humble Silvan woman. I will not see her until the ending of days but you - rejoice in what you have, brother; a mother that is heeled, one that awaits you all when your time is come - no matter she is now separated from your father."

Rinion looked to the floor and then back at Legolas. "Yes - that is the short of it. Your mother is gone but this you already knew - and yet you have us now, your sister and brothers - rejoice in what _you_ have, brother."

"I will," he said softly, "I do," he whispered.


	67. Jewel of The Greenwood

Author's notes:

I have added extensive notes at the end of this last chapter of The Silvan. I hope this last instalment is a worthy end to such a wonderful experience.

CHAPTER 67 Jewel of Eryn Galen

It seemed like such a very long time ago now, that he had been invested Warlord, and yet only ten days had gone by. In the blink of an eye he had sought permission to travel into the forest before joining Captain Dunorel and his unit, he had bidden goodbye to his sister and brothers, to Mithrandir and Llyniel; yet it had been his farewell with Glorfindel that still lingered in his mind for it had been surprisingly hard. It was not simply because he would miss him, for he would, but for what it represented - Legolas was now alone and capable, sufficiently equipped to face what life had put in his way - no longer a child but a capable warrior, a lieutenant, a Warlord.

Their friendship was strong, their bonds unbreakable and Legolas had promised to write - regularly. Likewise, Glorfindel had assured him they would see each other soon, that they would find a way for it to be so, and Legolas had chosen to believe him, even though in his heart he wondered if it was just himself, trying once more to lessen the blow.

They had stopped briefly at the Silvan camp that was already preparing to leave. They would travel much more slowly than Legolas and The Company, and so they had said goodbye - to Amareth, Erthoron and Lorthil - to Marhen, Golloron and Narosén.

Thavron too, had promised to write, so long as Legolas provided him with a place to send his letters, to which The Silvan had laughed, as if such a thing were impossible.

"Legolas - here," said Elladan, passing a skin of water to his friend who's horse walked alongside his own.

Snapping his head towards Elladan, he looked at the canteen, and then took it, drinking down the fresh water and allowing it to bring his mind fully back to the present.

"You were far away," said Rafnohtar.

"Yes," said Hwindohtar somewhat wistfully, but he did not elaborate and Elladan understood, and so he fell back, leaving Legolas with his thoughts once more.

Before long, they were dismounting and setting up camp, and by the time the sun had set, The Company sat sated and nostalgic around a small camp fire they had allowed themselves.

"Tomorrow we part ways for a few day, brothers," said Legolas as he stared into the flames.

"Legolas. Allow at least one of us to accompany you," pleaded Idhrenohtar.

Legolas gazed on his childhood friend, the Wise Warrior and smiled fondly. "No - not this time, Idhreno. This I must do alone. If there is danger I will call, you will know, but I must know that you will respect my wishes, brothers."

"We will," said Elladan. "We know how important this is to you, Hwindo. It is the final piece of the puzzle that has been your life," he said, knowing he spoke for the rest, for they had indeed discussed it when Legolas had been busy with other things.

"What we do not quite understand," said Koron en' Naur, "is what you hope to achieve - in the forest. What answers are to be had there, where nobody dwells?" he asked.

"Nobody? Koron," he said, leaning forward and placing his elbows upon his thighs. "The trees - the trees will show me what I seek. They have already given me glimpses, I have even seen the face of my _mother_ ," he whispered in awe - there is more, I know there is…"

The members of the Company watched him silently, no opinions to give, for this was a question of the spirit, and of that they knew little.

They spoke for a while longer, but soon enough, the watch was set and they retired to their respective bedrolls, or in the case of Legolas, into the boughs of a nearby oak. At dawn he would leave them, and penetrate the deep forest, on foot and alone - in search of answers - in search of the final pieces of his convoluted tale, give himself closure and perhaps - his father as well.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

He set out at dawn, alone.

A soft back hung over his shoulder, his short bow and twin knives upon his back but to any who looked upon him, he was a simple hunter with extraordinary hair. Not that there was anyone to see him though, for in these parts of the woods, there were no settlements, and hunters rarely came here. It was too remote, too dangerous for one not highly skilled in forestry.

At midday he sat and ate sparsely as he opened his diary and fished out his charcoal. On the last page he had filled, was the face of Llyniel and he smiled fondly, before turning to the next blank page and breathing deeply, his eyes slipping to the side for a moment.

Taking his hand to the parchment, he traced the half-silhouette of a woman. The jaw line was strong and angular, lips full and eyes that had given her fame amongst her people. Chestnut hair fell about her face a little chaotically and he smiled tightly as he pressed his memory, recalled that one glance he had been given. The result was not complete, he realised. There were details he could not complete, colours he did not know, emotions he could not yet impress. It was a cold, two-dimensional rendering of a pretty Silvan lass - his mother.

Closing the book, he leaned his head against the tree behind him, wondering what his father would be thinking now. He had been disappointed when Legolas had left, and intrigued, he knew for he had offered to tell him all he knew of Lassiel but how - how to make him understand? It was not about the small things - it did not matter to Legolas her favourite colour, food, the way she dressed or the friends she had. It was about her mindset. What had been in her head when she took the decisions she had? Why did she make them? Why hadn't she sailed?

And then, there was that nagging mystery of the tree - the one he now searched for - the one he knew he had been born in, albeit he did not know how he knew. The only way to answer all these questions, was to find that place, and the only way to do that, was to open his mind and tell them - tell them what he sought.

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He had been walking all day, and the forest was closing in. The trees were taller and thicker, the distance between them growing less and less. There was hardly any ground beneath his feet, for it was mostly roots that intertwined and jutted out everywhere, making his progress slow, and yet fascinating, magical, and Legolas' senses were saturated with thoughts and feelings that made no sense to him as yet.

Ferns were happy here, for they grew to enormous proportions, lush and every shade of green, and Legolas allowed his fingertips to brush over them as he passed.

Sunlight, however, was scarce, and what little of it reached the ground was dappled here and there, casting long shadows amongst the trees. It was difficult to tell the time of day and it occurred to him to sleep in the boughs this night, for the views over the forest must surely be stunning.

Resolved to indulge himself, he placed a palm upon a towering tree, and then began to climb, and the more he climbed, the lighter it became until of a sudden, his head broke through the canopy and into the vast open and he gasped at the sudden feeling of agoraphobia that assailed him.

The forest extended far, far away in every direction and above him, the orange and purple trails of a setting sun lit up his world in a myriad of colours that was simply as indescribable as it was breathtaking. It made him light-headed, a little dizzy, and so he sat close to the tops and waited for night to fall.

He had nuts, and fruit he had scavenged along the way and he sat now, nibbling on his food. There would be nobody around for miles and a sense of freedom washed over him. This was virgin land, as yet untouched by their enemy and by all that Legolas held dear he would see it remained that way.

 _'Welcome … '_

He sat straighter, swallowing the food in his mouth and waiting.

 _'Welcome back …'_

'Back'? He had never been here before. But then he realised he must have - this would be the area in which he would find the tree - this, was surely the land of his birth.

 _'Watch …'_

Frowning slightly, Legolas looked around himself, but he was so far up the only thing he could see was the night sky above him and the heavy branches surrounding him.

 _'Follow Ithil …'_

Ithil … the moon was indeed full and he followed her light over the treetops. It seemed to fall more intensely over an area not far from where he sat and so, resolved to do as he had been told, he climbed down to the forest floor and walked to the tree he believed he was being shown.

It was a massive, sprawling specimen, its branches reaching far to its sides, as if it wished to embrace the forest and he smiled. How had he not seen it before? He would surely have been attracted to its peculiar shape. But he had not, for it had taken a nudge from the trees for him to see it - under the light of the full moon.

He placed a palm upon the bark, waiting.

Nothing.

It seemed asleep, frozen in time, silent.

With a deep breath, Legolas began to climb. After a few minutes, his eyes made out a wooden construction a little further up - a talan, he realised and his heart skipped a beat. He had surely found it - but why was the tree dormant?

Increasing his pace, it was not long before he rested upon the surprisingly large platform that spanned the entire circumference of the tree, surrounding its mighty trunk. Rising slowly, his eyes first fell upon what would once have been rudimentary furniture. A table, now almost completely rotten, two chairs, storage shelves. This place had been abandoned many years ago and he wondered, nay he was almost sure, that this was where he had come into the world, this was the first place his eyes had first seen.

Reaching out, he touched the rough, rotten wood and then turned, eyes searching for anything else, but finding nothing. Too much time had passed, time in which the elements had done their ruthless job and erased all proof that perhaps, Lassiel had spent her final months alive here, had given birth to him.

With a sigh, he wondered if he had not been mistaken. There was nothing here, not anymore.

Walking to the centre of the flet, he sank down and leaned his back against the trunk, staring despondently at his lax hands. There were no emotions, no words, nothing it would share with him. Just silence, deep and meaningful. It was not chance - some dire thing had transpired here - something it did not wish to speak of.

Turning, he placed both hands upon the rough bark and ran them up and down, in a gesture meant to comfort - comfort himself, perhaps. Aye he had found the tree he had sought, only to find it silent with grief.

Sitting back down, he opened his bag and retrieved his diary and charcoal once more. On the next available page, he immediately began to sketch the tree he sat in. The images flowed through his mind and his hand worked harder, faster, until the rendering stood proudly upon the page and he smiled, for it was extraordinarily good, the detail puzzling him - that he had, subconsciously - retained so much visual information.

He smiled fondly, brushing one finger over the centre of the drawing, and then looking - a little closer. What was this? he mused to himself, wondering why he had drawn a hollow in the bark.

Straining his eyes, he frowned again, and then turned, to the trunk behind him. His eyes saw the rough, brown bark, nothing out of the ordinary - except perhaps here… he pushed a little with the heel of his palm and to his utter surprise, the bark fell away, leaving a hole bigger than his own head.

He froze. The bark had been expertly placed so as to conceal the opening and the implications were clear.

Peering inside, he could see nothing, and so he slowly place his hand inside, and then his arm, until smooth wood brushed his straining fingertips - a box.

Curling his hand around it, he slowly retrieved it, and then reverently set it upon the floor before him, shuffling back and then drawing his knees up to his chin.

The box was large yet simple, for there were no carvings upon it at all. To look upon it one would say it was a container for tools or cotton reels for nothing distinguished it as a container of precious momentos. But where had he got that idea from?

Moving to sit cross-legged, he decided to open it, but the very thought sent his heart hammering in his chest…

Slowly flipping the top, the box opened and his eyes focussed on the contents. It was a book - a diary, he thought, and he reached out carefully, wondering if the pages had stood the passage of time, or whether they would crumble under his questing fingers.

Bringing it to his lap, he slowly opened the hard, leather cover and there, upon the first page, sat the scrawling Tengwar of its owner, their own name …

Lassiel

He closed the cover too quickly, squeezing his eyes closed at the revelation. This was his mother's diary.

Banging his head against the trunk he tried to calm his rising emotions and still, the tree remained silent, unresponsive, lost even to him. Placing the diary inside his bag he stood and looked upwards. He would sit in the boughs of this tree for one last time, and then he would leave, perhaps forever. But at least he would have her diary, and the treasures that, perhaps, lay within.

With one last look inside the black hole, he turned to climb, but a glint of something catching the moonlight made him turn back. There was something else inside the hollow.

Reaching blindly inside one last time, he searched with his hand, until it stumbled over a stone of some sort. Grasping it, he pulled it out and brought it to his eyes.

They bulged and he gasped, dropping the stone and staggering backwards for there, rolling to a halt upon the flet, was a rough-cut emerald the size of which he had only ever once seen, upon the hand of the King, his father…

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

Elladan sat poking the nascent fire, while Ram en' Ondo skinned the rabbits Lindohtar had hunted. Idhreno was roughly chopping the roots he had found and slipping them into the pot that perched over the fire. Koron en' Naur stood watch on one side, and Glamohtar on the other, while Rhrawthir sat and watched them all, a thoughtful look upon his Silvan face.

It was Glamohtar who suddenly stood taller, and then spoke, not urgently but with a surety that could not be questioned.

"Hwindo is back."

They all turned and stood slowly, and sure enough, the lone figure of The Silvan emerged from the thick tree line, his bag slung over his shoulder, his face pensive and drawn.

No one spoke, for what to say? ' _Did you find what you were searching for?_ ' - they would find out, sooner or later, should he wish to speak of it.

With a tight smile, he nodded at them, and then sat silently. Soon enough, The Company resumed its activity setting up their camp, their respectful silence lingering on until dusk was upon them, and Legolas finally spoke.

"I found the tree," he said softy. "But its spirit is gone …"

They watched silently, observed the play of emotions on his face.

"It told me nothing, and yet I did find something," he said, reaching into his cloth bag and carefully extracting the leather-bound diary reverently. "This…"

"What is it?" asked Idhrenohtar, his eyes anchored on the simple book.

"It is my mother's diary …" said Legolas wistfully, almost as if he still did not believe it.

Rhrawthir sucked in a breath and the others stared dumbly at him.

"I have not yet had the courage to read it - yet I will, I must and so I ask a boon of you, brothers. We have ten days of journeying back to the fortress. Allow me to read, and be with myself. Heed me not, your steadfast presence is all I need for a while…" he trailed off softly.

"You shall have that, Hwindo," swore Idhrenohtar, his eyes roving over the rest before turning back to his childhood friend, but no more words would come to him and so they ate, and then they slept with one eye upon Legolas, who had done neither. He had simply sat with the book upon his lap, closed.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

 _'I think they have adopted me. They protect me, shield my home from all that pass. How they do it I cannot tell, but I know it has something to do with light, and shadows, illusions that trick the mind, and so, although bound to this, solitary place for the next months, I am not discontent with the thought, and neither are you I wager, my little tree sprite…'_

Legolas looked away, his eyes suddenly full of tears. His mother, he was reading her words - words to him, her as yet unborn child.

Reaching for his tea with a shaking hand, he drank, and then swiped at the tears so that he could continue to read as the others broke camp.

 _'Life here is simple, lonely save for Amareth and Erthoron who visit from time to time with the provisions I need. They bring news too, of the court and the machinations of those, scheming, conniving elves that seek nothing more than their own gain, their own power. I hate them, I hate their black, unfeeling spirits, for the hurt they caused you, my love; for the life they have forced us to live - apart. I hate them for staining my name, the Norhad clan that sought only to entrap you, push all else away so that their daughter may marry a king! At least I have him now, a part of you that will always be mine, always be yours.'_

He could not hold back the sob that escaped him and he turned away, closing the book and placing it in his bag.

Elladan looked over his shoulder, wishing he was at liberty to speak to his friend, offer a modicum of comfort but he could not - Legolas had asked them to leave him be, yet Elladan had not anticipated how hard that would be. Luckily, Koron en' Naur called them to mount and they were soon away, Legolas amidst them, lost in his thoughts, one name dancing on the fringe of his conscious mind - Norhad.

 _'I will call him Greenleaf, and I know you know why. I know you still have it somewhere, for you are as sentimental as I beneath that sheer, Sindarin veneer you wear. I know your heart, Thranduil for it is mine, as mine is yours, however flawed it may now be._

After a brief rest, they were away again, until evening fell and Rhrawthir and Lindo left to hunt.

 _'A strange elf passed this way today and I am awash in apprehension. I have told Erthoron and he will make enquiries, but I must remain alert. The trees protect me, but should they find out I am here, with our child still unborn, I fear the consequences.'_

Legolas breathed deeply, and took an absent bite of his stew. It was good and he placed the diary on the ground while he ate, his eyes momentarily alighting on Glamohtar who he knew had made the food.

"It is good," he offered, the first words he had spoken in two days and the Noldo smiled uncharacteristically.

"I know," he said arrogantly, garnering a soft chuckle from the rest. It was not long though, before the book was back in his hand, his empty plate sitting beside him.

 _'He is here - Thranduil - if only you could see him; the child is a jewel, just like our stone, for his eyes shine so very bright, so very green, I am so elated I have no words…'_

Pressing the heel of his palm into the space between his eyes, he forced them to remain open, but with dawn came the realisation that he had fallen asleep upon his back, the diary open on his chest.

Sitting up clumsily, he rubbed his tired face and returned to his reading.

 _'I had a dream tonight - so vivid, so real I wonder if it was not some vision, given to me by the trees. A lady looked down upon me in love and protection - oh but she was beautiful, Thranduil - like a Vala! Her hair was fiery red and her eyes a blue so deep and penetrating they brought tears to my eyes. Her hypnotic gaze strayed to our Greenleaf then and she smiled upon him as only a mother could. I wonder if I look like that when I gaze upon him, as I often do.'_

The dream, _his_ dream, mused Legolas in wonder. His mother had had the same dream, perhaps at the same time - perhaps she was right then, perhaps it was not a dream but Kementári, staking her claim upon him even as a babe.

Morning turned to afternoon, and then night was falling once more. A strong hand squeezed his shoulder and pressed a hot drink into his hand. He looked up gratefully, into the kind eyes of Idhrenohtar, who simply nodded, and went about his business.

 _'The child is mesmerised by our tree, my love, 'tis so funny to look upon, for his tiny face scrunches up and then his eyes widen and he smiles, and then chuckles madly, reaching up for something I cannot see - and yet there is a light in his eyes that I cannot fathom, a light I think only he can see. It is strange…'_

Food was before him once more and he picked at it distractedly as he read, his mind almost entirely detached from his surroundings, immersed in his mother's past, his own past, and again, that name hovered menacingly behind a barely closed door in his mind - Norhad.

Focussing once more on the Tengwar, he noticed now that the letters were hurried, clumsy and even incomplete.

 _"The Valar protect him - I should have sailed before he was born - I should have left this place and given birth to him across the sea but I could not! He is a child of the forest - he is Silvan! It was not right! They have found me…'_

Legolas' wide eyes looked up from the diary. This had surely been her final day, the day she had been killed, murdered by Bandorion.

Closing his eyes in grief, he bowed his head and allowed the barrage of emotion to wash over him, indeed he did not hide it, instead allowed it to flow through him, out of him, into the trees. He slept then, the book once more atop him.

The trees screamed and the ground beneath them groaned low and long, leaves were blown aloft, caught in the unnatural breeze as Lassiel ran, her precious bundle pressed against her chest, lost now to her destiny.

A babe lay upon the hidden flet, high above the body of its now inert mother, and in spite of the forest's dismay, he remained silent, eyes fixed upon the lady in the tree, hand reaching out as if to touch her - to touch the face of a Vala….

 _No!_

The wind died and the leaves slowly floated to the forest floor, coating her lifeless body, her lovely face, and the spirit in the tree fled it's wooden vessel, gone perhaps, in search of the one it had protected all this time.

As consciousness came back to him, he realised he had cried out aloud, indeed Elladan now crouched before him, his eyes momentarily landing on the open book on his chest, before returning to his friend, searching for signs of continued distress.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"Aye, forgive me…" he whispered.

TSTSTSTSTTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

The were close to the fortress now, with just one more night on the road before they would enjoy the city barracks, or in the case of Legolas and Elladan, their own rooms at the Fortress.

They had eaten and now sat silently before the crackling fire. Legolas fingered the book lovingly. He had finished it, read all there was to read of his mother's final months upon Arda. He had learned much, but confirmed more for there was little he had not already known, except for the Norhad Clan who Lassiel said had been responsible for staining her good name; that, and the growing suspicion that he had received a message he had yet to interpret.

Yet he had learned new things too. He learned of how loved he had been, of Lassiel's deep love for Thranduil, and he had discovered the rough emerald that seemed to hold great emotional significance to his parents.

Flipping the book, he opened the back cover and then startled, for there upon the last page was a sketch. His blood froze as his eyes roved over the red hair, the strange blue eyes and the expression of a mother that looks upon her creation. Kementári … just as he had seen her, drawn her. There could be no doubt; they had not dreamed of the elf in the tree - she had come to them both, looked over them both, saved him, shielded him from certain death, even though his mother had been lost.

His breathing accelerated and he flipped the page, only to find another sketch - Thranduil. It was his father only younger, more carefree, lighter than Legolas had ever seen him. His eyes looked on in adoration, a soft smile upon his face and although he knew it was him - the king was unrecognisable.

He turned the page again, his hand shaking as his eyes sought the next drawing - Amareth. And then the next, Erthoron.

He smiled and yet he shook in wonder, turning another page and then freezing for there, was the face of a babe with large green eyes that sparkled strangely, one, chubby hand reaching out to touch what lay beyond the beholder. It was himself, reaching for the tree and tears leaked from his eyes.

He put the book down and turned his face to the stars, knowing that his brothers looked on in silence.

Sniffling, he opened is watery eyes, and then chuckled as he swiped at his tears.

"Any of that grass liqueur left, Rhrawthir?" he smiled.

"Here," he said, handing him the leather container.

Legolas reached out and took a long drink from the Silvan brew, gasping at its fiery heat as it rushed down his gullet.

"Ohh," he croaked and the others chuckled, the tension finally breaking.

"What happened, Hwindo?" asked Lindohtar carefully after a few moments of silence.

Legolas turned his face to the Bard Warrior and smiled.

"I learned all there was left for me to know, Lindo. I know what happened, why it happened. I know my mother's face, and I know her heart. I know how she loved my father, and the sacrifice she made for me. I know - " he hesitated, wondering if he should disclose the information. "I know that Kementári saved me that day, shielded me from Bandorion's black heart. Perhaps she made me a Protege in payment for her service, or perhaps she had already chosen me - who can say?"

"There are truly no more questions?" asked Elladan. Are you content now? Are you at peace?"

Legolas met his friend's penetrating gaze with his own, full of confidence and resolve.

"Yes my friend, I am at peace, at last."

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

The following day, they arrived at the Fortress and Legolas bid goodbye to The Company for the rest of the day, for he would be busy. And so, together with Elladan, they stabled their mounts and sought their respective rooms.

Legolas' soul was perched upon the edge of the world, or so it seemed to him at the time. He felt as if something life-changing lurked just around the corner, something that would once more, shake his world, just like when Handir had told him who his father was.

He knew what it was, for he had unravelled the message, and the time had come for him to speak with his father - he would delay that no more. The family had gathered in the king's private suite, together with a few of their closest friends. He would bath, change, and then seek them out and the Valar knew he would not be deterred, not by anyone.

He chose a pair of light grey breeches and a deep blue tunic with a lovely silver belt that Handir had gifted him with. He looked lordly, he reckoned as he straightened his tunic and tied his locks upon his head.

Closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath, he picked up his small, cloth bag and left his room, collecting Elladan along the way.

"Legolas! You are back!" called Maeneth as they entered the room. Smiling, he approached his sister and kissed her upon the cheek, before briefly hugging Handir, and sharing a forearm clasp with Rinion, but his elder brother kept hold of his arms before Legolas could pull them back.

The cold blue eyes penetrated his own and Legolas stared back, unperturbed. "There is a new light in your eyes," murmured the Crown Prince. "You found what you were looking for … " it was not a question, and Legolas simply nodded, before asking the question he knew Rinion would be able to answer.

"Who was Norhad?"

Rinion's eyes sharpened. "Norhad is my grandfather, on my mother's side."

"He has committed crimes against our father, Rinion. I must see justice done."

"Justice has already been done, Legolas. He died, many years ago. His only remaining family is a councillor by the name of Draugole - a distant cousin."

"He would have known, known of the injustice done to my mother."

"That I cannot say- but you are free to explore it- I have no sympathy for the elf at all."

Legolas nodded curtly, and Rinion smiled tightly, and then gestured to the king, who stood on the other side of the room, only half listening to the music and the chatter around him.

Legolas spared one, last, grateful smile at his elder brother, for truth be told he was surprised it had been him to see the change that had come over Legolas. He was far more receptive, infinitely more perceptive than he let on, and Legolas stored the information for future use.

He smiled as he was greeted by familiar faces, his heart soothing with the soft music. He even accepted a glass of cool wine which he sipped on as he looked around, but the heavy weight of his father's gaze was upon him and he turned to return it.

A wave of sadness washed over him, for although the king was imposing, magnificent, beautiful to look upon, Legolas could now better understand that cleverly veiled haze of grief that lay beneath his father's bright blue eyes.

Slowly, he walked forwards and then stopped, bowing formally and then offering what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

"Father," began Legolas.

"My son," answered Thranduil, eyes searching, desperate for the news Legolas brought from the deep forest, yet perhaps afraid to ask.

Legolas' eyes strayed to the open study off to one side and the king turned, leading the way. Leaving the double doors open, they each sat upon a comfortable, winged chair, one before the other and Legolas deposited his bag on the floor beside him.

"Legolas. You will tell me whatever you see fit, of course, but I must know - are you content with what you have found? Are you at peace with your past?"

Legolas held the king's gaze admirably, for his conviction was absolute. "Aye - I am content, father, and I would tell it all, if you would hear it?"

Thranduil's eyes were, for just a moment, a reflection of his emotions and Legolas saw vulnerability, apprehension, before it was ruthlessly wiped away.

"Tell me then."

Legolas looked to the floor, before meeting his father's eyes once more.

"I will, but first, I must ask you a question, one that has plagued my mind, that must be answered."

"Go on."

"King Oropher - he forbade your marriage to Lassiel, and his reasoning would have been known to you. I need to know - why did you accept that fate?"

Thranduil had always expected this question to rise, and so he steeled himself against the possibility that his son would not understand his motives.

"I had no choice in the matter. I knew my father had taken that decision against his own judgement. It was a political decision, one he knew he had to take for the sake of the many thousands who needed a strong, just leader, not a seeker of personal power, a dominating dictator that would have crushed the Silvan people no sooner he was given leave."

"You speak of Bandorion?"

"Yes - of him. You see why I did not hesitate when I thrust your spear through his dead heart…it was him that ripped my heart in two."

"Truth be told, had I known what I know now, I would never have hesitated, in spite of Barathon's grief," said Legolas.

"There is no more to it, Legolas. It was either me, my happiness and that of Lassiel, or the entire kingdom - I could not, in all conscience, go against my father's dictates."

"I understand. And yet the consequences… it was not a personal decision, it was a decision of state."

"Yes, that is it, exactly. Yet we both held to hope, that in Valinor we would be reunited."

"Yes…"

"It is your turn," prompted the king.

"It is hard, to know where to begin. I will surely ramble…" he lamented, rising to his feet and walking about the room.

"Then ramble, the words will come to you."

Taking a long drink from his wine, he began.

"I found the tree…"

"What tree?" asked Thranduil, sitting forwards in his chair, watching as his son paced.

"Where my mother spent the last months of her life, the tree of my birth."

"How did you know where to look, what to look for?"

"I have spoken to Amareth, and Erthoron, yet more than this I have seen it in my dreams."

Thranduil scowled, and then took a sip of his wine. "Go on."

"I was overjoyed, until I realised that its spirit had fled, and when I climbed upwards, into the flet, I found the remnants of a humble abode, two chairs, one table, other such things, half rotten, long gone, just like her…" he trailed off, and Thranduil closed his eyes in misery.

"My hope was lost for I had thought to speak with the tree, that it may show me the answers to my questions but that was not to be. I," he hesitated, "I do not know why but I reached for my diary and began to draw the tree - here," he said, placing his wine upon a low table and reaching into his bag for his own diary. "Look," he pointed, showing his father the sketch he had made.

"Thranduil took it and then looked up at his son. "You have inherited her skill, and her wont for scribbling in a diary," he smiled. "This is very good."

"Thank you," said Legolas. "I drew this," he pointed at the trunk, "and yet I had not seen it…"

Thranduil squinted at the parchment. "This hollow was not visible?" he asked.

"Nay, and yet I drew it, and when I ran my hands over the area, the bark fell away…"

Thranduil started, something akin to panic flitting over his face.

"There was something inside?" he asked softly and Legolas turned towards him from where he stood.

"Oh yes," he said softly, his eyes connecting once more with those of his father's, a warm ache instilling itself in his chest.

Turning once more to his bag, he pulled out another diary, his mother's.

"I found this," he said, opening it and then glancing at his father, whose eyes were fixed on the object in his hands.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"It is my mother's diary - this was inside the hollow, father."

His head snapped up to Legolas in alarm. "What?" he whispered. "Her diary - her - her _words_ , her _sketches_ …" he trailed off, for his voice had become unsteady.

"Yes," said Legolas wistfully. "I have learned of her final months in exile, there in the deep forest. She spent her time amidst nature, with the occasional visit from Amareth and Erthoron. And yet she dreamed, and in her dreams, she was an elf in her tree - she drew her… look."

Thranduil stood slowly, and then looked to where Legolas held out the sketch of Yavanna.

"Who is she?" asked the king.

"The question, father, is that I too, had seen this face, here - see?" he pointed to his own sketch in his own diary - see the similarity?"

"Aye - 'tis the same elf, there can be no doubt."

"Father - this is no elf, is Kementári - Yavanna, the Vala I serve as a Protege."

Thranduil's eyes were wide as the information slowly registered, and Legolas turned away, the two diaries in his hands.

"We both had the same dreams, or in my case, memories - I can only deduce that they were not dreams - that she was there, protecting me, whether that then led to her choosing me as a Protege, or whether she had already chosen me and hence protected me I cannot say…"

His father remained silent, and so Legolas pressed on.

"The day Bandorion came for her, she knew why, and so she descended to the forest floor and led him away from the tree, my blanket in her arms. I saw her fall, saw the forest as it tried to cover her dead body, as if by doing so it would render the deed false. I saw the tree as its will, its very spirit fled, as if it could follow her as she flew away …" he stopped abruptly, his last words strangled and barely audible.

Collecting himself, Legolas breathed deeply and then turned to face his father, who now stood behind him.

"Yet what struck me in all this, is that her diary is written - to _you_. She speaks to _you_ , father, she drew for _you_ ," he said softly, moving towards the king and then opening Lassiel's diary from the back, and then holding it out for him to take.

Thranduil rose a shaking hand and took the diary reverently, peering at the first drawing, and then the second. The one of himself, much younger, when hope still shone in his eyes. A tear fell unchecked and Legolas saw him - for the first time he glimpsed at his father's soul, watched the complete transformation of this king as, sketch by sketch, his lost love tore away his mask and stripped him bare for his son to contemplate.

"Lassiel," he sobbed, and then took a shuddering breath.

Legolas' own eyes had filled with tears as he watched, and when the face of the infant Legolas was revealed upon the page, the king froze, except for one hand that came up to trace the soft, round features of his new-born son. His mask of indifference shattered into a thousand shards of past grief and regret, and before Legolas could react, the king was reaching blindly for him, grappling with his tunic and pulling his son's strong body towards him, burying his face in his hair, hands kneading into the fabric of his clothes.

Legolas' own arms reached up and surrounded his father's shoulders. Thranduil felt the strong, archer hands as they clutched desperately at his robes, and then looked at them - they seemed to change before his very eyes, into small, chubby fingers and soft nails - the babe he had never known - the fruit of his eternal love for Lassiel.

They stayed that way for many long moments, before Legolas pulled back and stared at his father, his hands still clutching at his robes.

"I told myself you were dead; I thought you an exile, dishonoured, expelled. I cursed you and I reviled you and I denied I was part Sinda because that was what _you_ were. I grieved when you were not there the day I took my vows, the day I became a Master Archer. I pitied myself so very much because I hated you, and I hated you because I never _had_ you, because I had been denied. Yet now, now that I know, now that I understand," he shook his head and his green eyes brimmed with the tears of seven hundred and forty five years. "I love you…" he whispered.

Thranduil pulled his child towards him once more, crushing him to his chest desperately.

"I never meant to hurt you, I never wanted that for you. I only wanted to preserve her life, and then join you in paradise. It was a dream, Legolas, our dream, the only way that we could live our lives, for with that dream came hope, and without hope, one cannot live."

He held his son at arm's length then, unashamed of the tears that flowed down his cheeks.

"We failed, and she was lost, but you - you are here, and you make me so very proud."

Legolas smiled through his tears, and then turned, out of his father's clutch and back to his bag and Thranduil watched him from across the room.

"There was something else in that hollow, father. Something that now must be returned to you. Perhaps with it, your heart will be whole once more for I wonder, you see, at the ways of the Valar. They can be cruel, they can be so very giving, and they can be confoundedly - _cryptic_ \- in their messages…"

Thranduil remained silent as he watched, because his son was now holding his arm straight out at him, palm turned upwards and upon it, sat a large, uncut emerald. He stared at it in confusion, and then his eyes snapped up to his son, mind working furiously to understand what it was he was trying to say.

But Legolas simply smiled, his arm stretched out before him and Thranduil reached up to take the stone carefully in his hands, and then hold it to the one that sat upon his finger. The two halves fit perfectly and a warmth infused his soul, so suddenly it stole his breath and he understood. His heart was whole once more, and so was hers. He was free to love again - and she was free to accept it, one day - across the sea.

TSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTS

And so it was, that through the open doors of the king's office, as music played softly around them, and elves danced merrily behind, Rinion, Handir and Maeneth watched as Legolas found his father, and their father became whole once more.

It had been a long, arduous path, yet how sweet the reward. The Greenwood stood reunited once more, a strong and powerful king upon her throne, free now, of the intrigues that had brought such suffering in its wake.

The Silvan people had regained their Warlord, no longer to suffer the disdain of those few who sought their own, personal gain.

Queen Aglareb had found her peace upon the shores of Arda, released now from the bonds of her marriage to Thranduil, the fruit of underhand politics and the struggle for power.

And as for Lassiel of the Woodland Realm, she would, many years in the future, receive a message from a mysterious elf upon her doorstep, amidst a storm that would rattle the very eaves of her humble abode, across the sea. In that message, she would receive her reward for the years of sacrifice, for the giving of her very life. She would be reunited with her son, and who knew who may follow.

THE END

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It has been a one-year journey of writing and learning.

I never intended for this story to become so long, so deep. Yet as the chapters progressed and the reads came, with them came your reviews, your words of encouragement and there was no stopping. Chapter after chapter rolled off my fingers because you see, this story almost wrote itself, battled to be freed of the confines of my mind, fruit of your words, your comments and insights, your enjoyment.

I want to thank you all for that, so that your names will be forever present, as co-creators of a story I am so very proud of, and am so sorry to see come to an end.

But all things do end, or so they say, but that does not mean they cannot start again, sometime in the near future.

If you already favourited this story, thank you! And if you did not, you might want to leave your mark on it forever!

Please note that I am uploading an edited version of The Silvan on Wattpad. Just look for Nimruzir Fanfiction. Likewise, if you would like to see my Facebook profile, please pop by :)

These are the ones that made this story what it is:

Lara, Berenir, Rita Orca, Freetobe, Noph, Lea1985, Bella13446, Kaori Takaguchi, Violet, Guest1345, Ninde, GB12390, Horsegirl01, Lecoeur, Shizuka Yuko, Alanic, 1, Hi-Tech Cowgirl, TryniS, Leonardodavinci, Finfinfin1, Philosophie88, Earthdragon, Thistle1000, gginsc, Coincidentally, Lizzen, Nebelkind, OdeFromParis, UnnamedElement, Cheekybeak, SilverOnlyReads, ColdOutside, Alindo, Narael, Tiyxor1, Amethyst, Ciel Tombe, Nyx Thranduilion, Ampalayajuice, InnocentSchoolgirl, Greg Barry, Vampishelf, BelleCelestyn, Queen of the Willis, AutumnLeaves03, Lord Illyren, Ranran, SarahDrav3n, Terehsa, Nareaure, James, SilverNM, ccandy, Clara Thad, Wizzelf, Mossy, Spudzmom, NightHaunter15, RoboTitaness, Sarathestarkidranger, Sorlouseoftheforest, Pascale Charette, Lanaithiel, Wenduo, RTLKM, fandommusings, SeruleanOrbs, Mimota Layon97, Smileyfaceofevil, The Cat Who Walks by Himself, Deare, AJH, Pimi the Cat, Ultimate Ninja of Doom, Ne'ith5, scathach47 - and all those guest reviewers :))

But a special mention must go to these reviewers. Your input has been priceless - thank you.

Naledi, Mystic Folly, Lotrfn, SparkyTAS, and of course, Leggyrespect123.

All of your hitherto 1014 reviews went straight to my heart.


	68. Author's Note

Hello everyone!

No, I'm sorry but this is not another chapter. As you know this story was finished some time ago. :(

I just wanted to tell you all that this story has been transformed into an original fantasy novel in three, separate books. The first in the Trilogy is entitled Path of a Novice, and is about to be published on Amazon.

And how did this come about? Well, I said it at the time this story finished. I could never have wished for a better bunch of readers, and so many of you encouraged me to publish the story. I didn't believe it was good enough at the time, but thanks you your continued support, I am finally making that jump.

If you are interested in checking it out - you can find me on Goodreads under the pen name R.K. Lander. If any of you are members and want to friend me there - that would be amazing! I am also on Facebook under the pen name R.K. and then Lander straight after. For some reason this site hates any mention of FB

So I really had to tell you this, because YOU are the reason I am now on the verge of launching my first book.

Thank you -


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